Could it be possible that only last night she was kneeling, wet and cold and wretched in the outlaw's cavern retreat, pleading for liberty—she who sat here free and happy, and listened to the musical voice of Ronald Valchester murmuring lovely lines and gentle thoughts from the poets she loved?
She shivered as if with cold as the striking contrast presented itself to her mind.
"It is a delightful party," she said to herself. "I would not have missed it for anything. I have enjoyed every minute of it."
Just then Walter Earle came hurrying up to them.
"Miss Meredith, I beg ten thousand pardons," he cried. "Our dance is almost over, but I did not know it was on until this moment. You see I had gone into the house and was talking to my father and some of the older people, and I did not hear the music. Will you excuse me, and give me another dance?"
"You are perfectly excusable, sir," she said, "but——" she stopped and looked at Ronald Valchester.
"I have just been telling her," said Valchester, "that it is neither customary nor fair to give so many dances to one person."
Walter Earle flushed slightly.
"As I am her teacher," he said, "that objection should not apply to me. I have been showing her how to do the steps and figures. No one else volunteered to teach her. You did not, Valchester."
It was Valchester's turn to blush now.