"You remind me of Miss Bates, in Jane Austen's 'Emma,'" said Vixen, laughing.
The band struck up "Trauriges Herz," a waltz like a wail, but with a fine swing in it.
"Now for the old three-time," said Roderick; and the next minute they were sailing smoothly over the polished floor, with all the fair pictured faces, the crimson draperies, the pensive Madonnas, Dutch boors, Italian temples, and hills, and skies, circling round them like the figures in a kaleidoscope.
"Do you remember our boy-and-girl waltzes in the hall at the Abbey House?" asked Rorie.
Happily for Vixen her face was so turned that he could not see the quiver on her lips, the sudden look of absolute pain that paled her cheeks.
"I am not likely to forget any part of my childhood," she answered gravely. "It was the one happy period of my life."
"You don't expect me to believe that the last two years have been altogether unhappy."
"You may believe what you like. You who knew my father, ought to know——"
"The dear Squire! do you think I am likely to undervalue him, or to forget your loss? No, Violet, no. But there are compensations. I heard of you at Brighton. You were very happy there, were you not?"
"I liked Brighton pretty well. And I had Arion there all the while. There are some capital rides on the Downs."