Adelaide Horton seated herself by the side of her friend, twining her arm affectionately about Cora's slender waist.
"Strange," thought Mortimer Percy, as he watched the two girls, "one word from me, and my cousin would shrink from this lovely and innocent creature with loathing and disdain."
The prelude of a waltz resounded at this moment from the orchestra and Gilbert Margrave appeared to claim his partner.
"Ah!" exclaimed Adelaide, "it is you, Mr. Margrave! My poor friend has just heard some sad news."
"Sad news, Miss Horton!"
"Yes, there has been a revolt of the slaves, in which her father well nigh fell a victim. Thank Heaven, the result was less terrible than it might have been."
While Adelaide was speaking to Mr. Margrave, Mortimer Percy approached the chair on which Cora was seated, and bending over her for a moment said, in a low voice, "let me speak to you alone, Miss Leslie."
"Alone!" exclaimed Cora, with new alarm, then turning to Gilbert, she said, calmly, "I trust that you will be so kind as to excuse me, Mr. Margrave, and ask Adelaide to favor you with her hand for the next waltz, I wish to speak to Mr. Percy about this sad affair."
"Cora insists upon it, Mr. Margrave," said Adelaide, "and you must, therefore, resign yourself. But remember," she added, turning to Cora, "that we only consent on condition that we find you smiling and altogether restored to good spirits on your return. Now, Mr. Mortimer Percy, after this I suppose you will leave off praising the virtue of your pet negroes."
"What would you have, my dear cousin?" replied Mortimer; "when dogs are too violently beaten, they are apt to bite."