“Trevor has a good deal on his hands,” she reminded herself however, “and of course he will know it does not matter if he misses one dance with me. We have two still—one other waltz.”
So the face was still sweet and unruffled, the eyes guiltless of reproach, when, at the very end of the waltz—when the last notes of the inviting Zuleika were dying away—the laggard partner made his appearance. He looked flushed and discomposed, and evidently conscious that he deserved a scolding.
“I am so sorry, so very sorry,” he began. “I was coming here to look for you, but I hadn’t got rid of my last partner, and the music began before I expected, and we found ourselves regularly hemmed in. We took a turn to get clear, and then I had to get Ge—, my partner, an ice, and now it is too late!”
“Never mind,” said Cicely brightly. “What does it matter? I have kept two others for you.”
Trevor looked at her with a curious mixture of expressions in his face. “My dear old Cit,” he said, reverting to a pet name of long ago, “you are awfully sweet-tempered.” Then a frown gathered over his face. Whose soft voice had whispered in his ear a minute before?—“Do not please tell my cousin you were just now dancing with me. It might—it might vex her. She thinks sometimes I forget too much I am but a stranger. I would not that she should think I knew this was the waltz you should dance with her.”
Cicely did not see the frown. She only heard the pleasant words. “Am I?” she said. “I don’t know that it is true, but any way I like you to think so. By the bye, how is Geneviève getting on? I have not seen her for ever so long.”
“Oh! she’s all right. She’s had any number of partners,” replied Mr. Fawcett hastily, as he ran off to fulfil his next engagement—this time probably with some less long-suffering damsel than Miss Methvyn. In the doorway he almost knocked over a small man, quietly making his way in. “I beg your pardon,” he exclaimed. “Ah! Hayle, is it you? Why are you so late?”
“I could not come earlier,” replied Mr. Hayle. “Is Miss Methvyn here?”
“Yes, in the little drawing-room,” said Trevor, as he disappeared.
Mr. Hayle peered about till he caught sight of Cicely.