"One takes that, of course."
"But it is always the next man who is going to be killed, madame," struck in Charlie. "Oneself is always immune. Lord Deseret was at Waterloo, yet here he is, very much alive and as sound as a bell."
"He had the good fortune. May you both have as good!"
"They were anxious to express to you their admiration of your dancing, madame," said Lord Deseret. "But we seem to have fallen upon more solemn subjects."
"I have never seen anything like it," said Jim.
"It is exquisite beyond words, a veritable dream," said the more gifted Charlie.
"Ah, well, it seems to please people, and so it is a pleasure to me also. You are from--where, Mr. Carron?"
"From the north--from Carne,--the Carrons of Carrie, you know."
The dusky plume wafted noiselessly to and fro in front of her face, and its pace did not vary by the fraction of a hair's breadth. Over it, and through it, the great black eyes rested on his face in curiously thoughtful inquisition.
Suddenly, with an almost invisible jerk of the head, she beckoned him to closer converse, and holding the fan as a screen invited him inside it, so to speak.