For an instant she hesitated and then she smiled and laid her hand in Mr. Trevor’s, so near that it brushed Savile’s sleeve.
“This dance is promised, my lord,” she said sweetly, and passed out on the floor with her partner.
The young lord swore in a subdued voice, happily unheard by any one. All eyes were on my lady and her partner.
“Mars and Venus!” cried a courtier.
“Venus and Apollo!” said another, and every eye was on them.
Yet the two thought not of it, they danced superbly, it is true, and with a joy in it, being adepts in the art, but Betty could think of no one but the man who held her hand, whose eyes held hers, too, by a spell. Perhaps, she feared a little the mastery of his ways, yet she had never danced before with such a partner.
“You have learned to dance in France, sir, I think,” she said lightly, laughing a little.
“Perhaps,” he replied, smiling too, “but I think I learned on the mossy fields of old Ireland, that I was born a dancer.”
Afterwards they went out on the balcony together, the night air cooling their faces. Below was the garden, for this was the rear of the house. It was dark and silent without, but the strains of music floated through the open windows and the light from within fell on her.