But even the slowest of dances “wears through” at last. Cicely’s next engagement was to one of the aforesaid officers from Haverstock—a quiet man—who danced little but talked sensibly, and did not seem, like every one else this evening, to have had his head turned by Miss Casalis. And when his dance was over, Cicely began to feel tired in earnest. She sat down in the corner where she had been before, resolving not to dance any more—“at least,” she said to herself, “not unless Trevor very much wants to make up for the waltz we missed. I wonder what has become of him? I did not see him dancing the last at all. And Geneviève? She is engaged to Fred Dangerfield again for this one, I think he told me. No, there he is, talking to Miss Falconer. Where can Geneviève be?”
Her speculations were interrupted by Mr. Hayle, who, with great satisfaction, had spied her out again in her retreat.
“I don’t think I remembered to ask you how Colonel Methvyn is,” he began, as he came up to her.
“Not very well, thank you,” said Cicely, “indeed, I was not much inclined to leave him to come here to-night—but—I hardly liked to stay away. My cousin has had very little amusement since she has been with us. I came greatly on her account.”
“Then you yourself don’t care for balls and dancing?” said Mr. Hayle eagerly.
Cicely smiled. “Oh! yes I do,” she answered. “When I am light-hearted about other things, I enjoy them very much.”
Mr. Hayle made no reply.
“Have you seen my cousin lately?” Cicely went on, “I can’t think what has become of her.”
“If you mean Miss Casalis, I saw her just now with Mr. Fawcett. I think they were going to dance,” said Mr. Hayle.
“Oh!” said Cicely, and then relapsed into silence.