My astonishment, though perhaps of a more agreeable kind, was not greater than that of the dragoon lieutenant—who, by the way, was also a full-blooded “Southerner.” At sight of his partner’s face he started, as if a six-pound shot had winded him; and after a few half-muttered excuses, he rose with an air of extreme gaucherie, and hurrying off, hid himself behind the crowd!
The “coloured lady,” mortified—as I presumed she must be—hastily readjusted her mask, and rising from her seat, glided away from the scene of her humiliation.
I gazed after her with a mingled feeling of curiosity and pity; I saw her pass out of the door alone, evidently with the intention of leaving the ball.
I fancied she had departed, as her domino, conspicuous by its bright yellow colour, was no more seen among the maskers.
Chapter Thirteen.
The blue domino.
Thus disappointed, I gave up all hope of meeting her for whose sake I had come to the ball. She was either not there, or did not wish to be recognised, even by me. The latter supposition was the more bitter of the two; and goaded by it and one or two other uncongenial thoughts, I paid frequent visits to the “refreshment-room,” where wine flowed freely. A cup or two drove the one idea out of my mind; and after a while, I grew more companionable, and determined to enjoy myself like others around me. I had not danced as yet, but the wine soon got to my toes as well as into my head; and I resolved to put myself in motion with the first partner that offered.
I soon found one—a blue domino—that came right in my way, as if the fates had determined we should dance together. The lady was “not engaged for the next;” she would be “most happy.”