Ella meanwhile, but for her disagreeable interview with her eldest sister, had been enjoying herself to the top of her bent. She had not been long of discovering that she was sailing under false colours, as more than one of her partners, imagining he had heard her name correctly, addressed her distinctly as “Miss Wyndham.” And she did not set the mistake right. She would enjoy herself for this one evening, she decided, and Madelene’s unpleasant strictures might be reserved till afterwards.
“I will keep out of their way,” she said to herself, “for if all these men knew I was their sister they would begin cross-questioning me, and it would all seem queer. And godmother won’t mind if from time to time I let her know I’m all right. She wants me to have as much dancing as I can—we shall be leaving so early.”
It all turned out more easy of execution than she could have expected. After her first half-apologetic whisper to Lady Cheynes, at the end of her dance with Major Frost, of “Godmother, I’m so happy, but need I come back to you every time? The dances follow so quickly,” had been met with an indulgent smile, and the words, “No, no, my dear—amuse yourself as much as you can, but remember we must leave at twelve,” she felt quite at ease on that point, and somehow she did not again catch sight of Lady Cheynes at all. And with her partners she took care to keep to generalities, nor was it difficult to do so, seeing that socially speaking she was really a stranger in the neighbourhood.
She danced twice in succession with Sir Philip, the second time immediately following the passage of arms with Madelene in the conservatory. She had not the faintest idea who he was, but she thought him by far the most agreeable of her partners. And he, attracted at first sight by her beauty, was still more captivated by her pretty, half-childish bearing and the little air of mystery about her, which he was quick enough to detect.
“You will give me another dance, I hope?” he said; “though indeed it is perhaps hardly fair of me to ask it, when so many less fortunate than I have been already, must be refused.”
“But you were one of the first to ask me,” she said simply, “you, and Mr—Mr something Belvoir, a son of the house, and a Sir Philip somebody, and Major—Major Frost. You are not Major Frost, are you?” she added quickly, with a slight tone of inquiry.
Philip smiled. He was not going to be trotted out by this charming little person, who knew so well how to keep her own secrets.
“Mr Louis Belvoir, you mean,” he said, calmly ignoring the latter part of her speech. “Ah, yes, there he comes. You are dancing with him? And what about another waltz?”
“It must be soon, then,” she said, “for I am leaving early; at twelve, not a moment later, my god—my chaperone said.”
“What a very strict chaperone she must be,” said Sir Philip, smiling. “It sounds quite like a certain old fairy-story. I wish I could be dancing with you when the clock strikes, to see what would happen.”