"Very well," said Lucy; "but you must take the chance of my coming, as it is very late now. Is it not nearly three o'clock? I never spent so long an evening."
"You are tired, I see; but we will join this last waltz—for such it ought to be, I am sure."
So saying, he passed his arm lightly round her waist, and was soon amongst the dancers.
Mabel had been no inattentive observer of Mr. Beauclerc's entrance, and she perceived that Lucy seemed to excuse to herself the open admiration she paid him, by considering him as a kind of demi-god, while he appeared contented rather to suffer than to encourage that admiration which he too plainly perceived.
"Hargrave had, for some time, stood by her in silence, bent on the same observation.
"Well," he said, speaking at length—as if he would challenge her thoughts.
"I hope—but fear," she replied; "how lovely she looks to-night."
Hargrave gave vent to an impatient "hum."
"What influence can I possess against such an infatuation?" enquired Mabel.
"The influence of common sense," he replied; "I never witnessed such absurdity in my life."