''Tis something about Elise and—I like it not. But I had rather finish it, Aunt Constance.'
A grave rebuke flashed in and out of the lady's eyes.
'Elise can wait. She has waited thus long. And there are days and days to read it in. But to-night—this is your ball, and your guests are waiting on your pleasure. Where is the smiling face I saw ten minutes ago?'
Marion got up, and taking the scissors cut the fragment from her petticoat. True to her character, she made no outward show of the unhappiness that had seized her. 'Where is Simone?'
'Helping Martin.'
'Why so, Aunt Constance?' With mechanical fingers, Marion tidied a tress of her bright hair.
'I will tell you later, my child. Run downstairs now; and remember this is your special dance. I am following, but I must attend to the older folk in the card-room.'
Obediently Marion went downstairs. The ballroom, which had seemed all brightness and music a little time before, now appeared full of alien presences whose voices jarred upon her. She was scarcely aware of the low bow of her partner, of his extended hand; with an unaccustomed heaviness in her step she took her place at the head of the long line. Then glancing towards the musicians' gallery as the fiddlers struck up the country air, she saw the wrinkled face of old Zacchary behind the performers, his eyes, full of pride and tenderness, watching the 'little maid' who was his delight. A sudden vision of her father came upon her. She rallied. Her head rose a little. She threw a smile to Zacchary, and holding her fingers to her partner, went lightly down between the ranks, curtseying and turning and retracing her steps in the maze of the country dance. Once begun, the movement left her no time for thought. Only when Captain Beckenham led her to her seat and handed her her fan, did she realise how heavy lay her heart, what bitter drops had marred the wine and dulled the sparkling rim of the goblet. Presently Colonel Sampson strolled up.
'I should guess my lady has told you the news, Mistress Marion. 'Tis writ in your sober look.'
'What news?' cried the young gentleman, rising to his feet as the old soldier spoke.