"We ought to be acquainted, Mr. Allonby," said Percivale, after a moment.
"Indeed? I have not the honor——" began Osmond, struggling for an indifferent manner.
"My name is Percivale," said the owner of the Swan. "Perhaps you may have heard it."
Osmond bowed. In the presence of Elsa, it was not possible to allude to the events which had brought the yacht to Edge Combe.
"I am glad to meet you, Mr. Percivale," he managed to say, with some stiffness. "Miss Brabourne, may I hope for the honor of a dance?"
Again the girl smiled at him, accompanying the smile with a look half mischievous, half pleading, and wholly inviting, as if deprecating the formality of his address.
"Yes, of course you may," she said, shyly. "Will you have this one?"
"Will I! May I?"
The rapturous monosyllables were all that he could command. Next instant he felt the light touch of that white glove on his coat-sleeve—he was walking away with her, out of reach of all observing eyes; he was floating in a Paradise of sudden, wild happiness. Of what was to come he recked nothing. The present was enough for him.
"Elsa!" he gasped, as soon as he could speak, "I thought you had forgotten me!"