"Sir Charles Fairfield."
"Monstrous! Monstrous! Why, he's been eating with us for three hours and never told! Lord! If 'twere any but you had told me, I swear I'd discredit it. There he goes to them now."
Madam Trevor, her daughters, Vincent, and Deborah were just entering the room. They had arrived fifteen minutes before, and no time, certainly, had been wasted in the announcement of Virginia's engagement. The room was in a buzz of conversation, and not a little of it was relative to the two young people who now stood rather uncomfortably side by side, Virginia straight and cold, her companion cursing inwardly at women's tongues, and staring at the back of Deborah, who was laughing with Will Paca.
"You will give me the minuet, at least, Virginia?" he asked, with considerate nonchalance.
She shrugged slightly, as she rejoined: "Go and engage Debby for a country-dance, then, before she is all bespoken."
Fairfield glanced at her sharply, with surprise in his look. She was smiling at him in the most unconcerned manner possible. After an instant's hesitation he bowed deeply, and left her side, but made his way first to Lucy, who was manoeuvring to avoid Rockwell. From her he obtained two country-dances, for it was the fashion to change partners after the opening minuet and every two dances thereafter. Then he proceeded to Deborah, with whom Carleton Jennings was speaking.
"Ah, lieutenant!" cried that youth, merrily, at Charles's approach. "Miss Travis is just recounting your happiness. I'm in the same estate myself, you know, and—you have my congratulations. Miss Trevor cannot fail to grace whatever station in life she may attain to. I—"
"There now, that's quite enough, Jennings. Go and engage her for a dance, and pour a few of my graces into her ears. I've come to claim some attention of Miss Travis," cried Fairfield, with such unabashed good-nature that Jennings could not be angry. Thereupon, with a smile and an earnest injunction to Deborah not to forget the promised dances, he went off to Virginia.
The instant that he was alone with Deborah, Fairfield's artificial manner dropped from him, and he betrayed the extent to which he had keyed his nerves.
"You'll give me the fourth and fifth, and the eighth and ninth, Deborah?" he whispered, huskily, drawing her a little towards the wall.