Maria Cutler had presided at the piano earlier in the evening, as had one or two other young ladies, but to none of these had Guy paid half the attention he did to Maddy, staying constantly by her, holding her fan, turning the leaves of music, and dictating what she should play.
“There’s devotion,” tittered a miss in long ringlets; “but she really does play well,” and she appealed to Maria Cutler, who answered, “Yes, she keeps good time, and I should think might play for a dance. I mean to ask her,” and going up to Guy she said, “I wish to speak to—to—well, Jessie’s governess. Introduce me, please.”
Guy waited till Maddy was through, and then gave the desired introduction. In a tone not wholly free from superciliousness, Miss Cutler said:
“Can you play a waltz or polka, Miss Clyde? We are aching to exercise our feet.”
Maddy bowed and struck into a spirited waltz, which set many of the people present to whirling in circles, and produced the result which Maria so much desired, viz: it drove Guy away from the piano, for he could not mistake her evident wish to have him as a partner, and with his arm around her waist he was soon moving rapidly from that part of the room, leaving only the doctor to watch Maddy’s fingers as they flew over the keys. Maddy never thought of being tired. She enjoyed the excitement, and was glad she could do something toward entertaining Guy’s guests. But Guy did not forget her for an instant. Through all the mazes of the giddy dance, he had her before his eye, seeing not the clouds of lace and muslin encircled by his arm, but the little figure in blue sitting so patiently at the piano until he knew she must be tired, and determined to release her. As it chanced, Maria was again his partner, and drawing her nearer to Maddy, he said, “Your fingers ache by this time, I am sure. It is wrong to trouble you longer. Agnes will take your place while you try a quadrille with me.”
“Oh, thank you,” Maddy answered. “I am not tired in the least. I had as lief play till morning, provided they are satisfied with my time and my stock of music holds out.”
“But it is not fair for one to do all the playing; besides, I want you to dance with me—so consider yourself invited in due form to be my next partner.”
Maddy’s face crimsoned for an instant, and then in a low voice she said, “I thank you, but I must decline.”
“Maddy!” Guy exclaimed, in tones more indicative of reproach than expostulation.
There were tears in Maddy’s eyes, and Maria Cutler, watching her, was vexed to see how beautiful was the expression of her face as she answered frankly, “I have never told you that grandpa objected to my taking dancing lessons when I wrote to him about it. He does not like me to dance.”