"Her looks and her graces would carry almost any acting through," he answers temperately; "and we Nutshire notabilities are not subtle dramatic critics. It is a case of Venus Victrix with Pauline to-night. Yes, Addie, yes; I do think her lovely."
"Lovely?" echoes a harsh voice in Addie's ear which makes her start uncomfortably. "Yes, Armstrong, a good few share your opinion."
"Mr. Everard, I never saw you coming up. Allow me to congratulate you. Your Melnotte was so affecting; there were two old ladies near me almost in hysterics during the cottage scene. The comedy too was capital! What is the matter with you? Do you intend to play the tragedian all night, or have you come to ask me to dance at last?" she says gayly, her heart sinking at the sight of the lad's woe-begone face and the cold fire of his blue eyes.
"No, Mrs. Armstrong, I haven't come to ask you to dance, but to say good-by to you; I am going home."
"Going home, and the ball only beginning? Oh, nonsense, Jack!" she says, unconsciously using the familiar name, and laying her hand on his arm with a sisterly gesture.
"Yes," he says, a quiver in his voice, "I am going to follow your advice at last, Mrs. Armstrong. I am throwing up the game; she gave me the last straw five minutes ago."
"What did she do?"
"She would promise me only one dance; and, when I went up for it a minute ago, that fellow she is dancing with now—that hulking Guardsman—"
"Sir Arthur Saunderson?"
"Yes—claimed it too. She decided in his favor. She met him only a week ago, and I—I have followed her like a dog for the last five months, have anticipated her slightest wish, have obeyed her every wanton whim, have put my neck under her foot, let her trample me as she would!"