All eyes were fixed upon the four couples. With elaborate bows and graceful formality, they stepped through the figures of the dance. The measured music from the violins and harps beat a slower time in the days of our forefathers than now; and there was a dignity and solemnity in the first dance of the period—almost equivalent to the sacred decorum of a religious rite—that in this rushing age has been forgotten.
"Mrs. Manning—Miss Maud Maxwell," said Mrs. Mason after the dance was over. "You young ladies have each expressed a desire to know each other."
As they clasped hands and looked into each other's eyes, several moments passed away; thoughts seemed to be uttered without words.
"Strangers, and yet not strangers," said Helen. "I could fancy I had known you for years."
"It must be the same feeling," said Maud, still holding the extended hand; "a sweet joy in seeing you, although we never met before."
"It is all owing to the talk you have made among us," said Mrs. Mason, taking each young lady by the arm and leading the way to one of the tête-a-tête corners already referred to. "Maud was always ambitious, headstrong, wayward. Perhaps a little chat between you two will do each good. There, I will leave you, but with so many gentlemen and so few ladies, I cannot guarantee a minute by yourselves."
"Would you care for a companion in your journey west, Mrs. Manning?" Maud asked in a swift, low voice, as Mrs. Mason, accepting the arm of an officer, left them. She must speak while the chance lasted.
"I know I would," was Helen's startled answer; "but after all that is said against it, I fear that I could not conscientiously advise."
"It would be simply glorious to go," said Maud, enthusiastically. "Out in the starry night with the trees cracking and the wolves howling, while you are rolled up in your buffalo robes, snug and warm, and safe from all danger."
"You young enthusiast! What a splendid companion you would make!"