“I will speak; then her voice will betray her,” he thought, forgetting that his own was undisguisable.
“Madame, permit me that I fan you, it is so greatly warm.”
A fan was surrendered with a bow, and the masked face turned fully toward his own, while the hood trembled as if its wearer laughed silently.
“Ah, it is you,—I know the eyes, the step, the laugh. Miss Dolly, did you think you could hide from me?”
“I did not wish to,” was the whispered answer.
“Did you think I would come?”
“I hoped so.”
“Then you are not displease with me?”
“No; I am very glad; I wanted you.”
The pink head drooped a little nearer, and another white glove went to meet its mate upon his arm with a pretty, confiding gesture. Mr. Bopp instantly fell into a state of bliss,—the lights, music, gay surroundings, and, more than all, this unwonted demonstration, put the crowning glory to the moment; and, fired with the hopeful omen, he allowed his love to silence his prudence, and lead him to do, then and there, the very thing he had often resolved never to do at all.