Rose hesitated.
"I have not danced for a long time," she said. "Circumstances have kept me out of society. I am afraid you won't find me a satisfactory partner."
"I will take the risk, Miss Beaufort. You won't refuse?"
She rose and took her place on the floor. Arethusa Jayne, who was dancing with one of the walking gentlemen of society, a young man who was merely invited to swell the number of guests, was not long in discovering Miss Beaufort's good luck, and her face showed her displeasure. It would have pleased her had Rose been awkward, but she was unusually graceful, in spite of her want of practice. Miss Jayne was hot with jealousy.
"You shall repent this," she said to herself, and looked so stern that her partner asked, with alarm:
"Are you not well, Miss Jayne?"
"Certainly"—you fool! she would liked to have added. "Why do you ask?"
"I thought you looked disturbed," he stammered.
"I was only a little thoughtful," she said, with a constrained smile. "But I am fatigued. Suppose we sit down."