“Really, my dear, it is very remarkable how well they conduct themselves,” the colonel said to Edith, as he stood at her side and looked at the people who neither laughed nor talked noisily, nor jostled each other, but spoke together in low, subdued tones as they moved about and quietly inspected the handsome rooms and furniture.
Dancing commenced at eight in the large breakfast-room, which had been cleared for the occasion. Tom Barton, who when himself was very gentlemanly and agreeable, was the first upon the floor with Emma as his partner, while Robert Macpherson followed next with Julia, and Godfrey with Rosamond.
“Come, boys, fill up, fill up,” Godfrey cried, to the row of bashful youths, looking longingly at the row of expectant girls. “We want some one to fill our set. Here, Peterkin, get your girl and join us.”
“I dassent for fear she won’t,” Peter said, blushing to the roots of his hair.
Godfrey knew who she was, and answered the timid swain:
“Nonsense! You are too faint-hearted. Yes, she will; try her, and hurry up!”
Thus encouraged, Peter made his way to Alice, and making the bow he had practised at intervals for a week in anticipation of this very event, said, with a face as red as his necktie:
“Miss Creighton, will you please to be—so good—as to—dance this time with me? Mr. Godfrey said how you would.”
With a look of ineffable scorn, Alice replied:
“Thank you, sir. I do not dance to-night.”