"Come and sit down then, and rest," said the matter-of-fact Gilbert, "and get back your breath;" which was not just the form of answer which Maida had looked for. However, the music was ending and it could not be helped.
And now Gilbert, having done his duty by his old friend, thought it was time for her to be of some little service to him in return. He asked her to introduce him to some of the other young ladies whom he might ask to dance; and she could not but consent. It seemed a strange request to make, she thought, a strange desire to feel, when she was by--so soon after returning from so long an absence! It was a masculine caprice, she supposed. And those men! Who could understand them? She could take care, however, that the ladies she presented him to were not more than moderately endowed with beauty. And she did. One cannot be expected to court misfortune--to introduce rivals to even the most loyal of swains--to fetch a stick from the wood to break one's own back with. Perhaps she rather overdid it, in fact; at least Gilbert did not invite many of her beauties to dance, and when the introductions were over he could not help saying, "What a homely lot of friends you have, Maida! They must be awful good, if appearances are as deceitful as folks say. Now there's a little girl over yonder, a peart little filly, that it would be a real pleasure to dance with. What's her name? Can you not introduce me there?"
"I don't know her. She's a stuck-up little thing; and if I'm any judge of girls, as I ought to be, there's not much in her. I hear them call her Fanny Payson, and she belongs to Senator Deane's party--Deane of Indiana, you know."
"I knew Deane well; he lives part of the time in Chicago. Is his family with him?"
"Oh yes; but they put on airs, no end of. We poor New Hampshire folks ain't good enough for them to know."
Gilbert was not listening now. He had fallen into a brown study, and presently without any explanation he left her. He wandered up and down the rooms, wearing a look of impatient eagerness, and peering into faces as though in search of some one. At length he darted forward to the side of a lady standing up to dance. "Miss Deane," he whispered hoarsely, "is she here?"
Lettice turned. "You, Mr Roe?" Then, recovering from her surprise, she assumed a manner of great coldness, and opening her eyes, as if in wonder at his audacious intrusion, she limited her answer to a clearly articulated "No."
"Where is she? Pray tell! I----"
He had stretched out his hand as if to lay hold on her skirt to detain her; but with a motion of her hand she swept it beyond his reach, saying severely, "I cannot tell you;" and then, in turning away, she added, "Do not expose yourself in this public place;" and giving her hand to her partner, she was whirled away among the dancers.
Gilbert set his teeth, and a look of despairing woe passed across his features. He traversed the crowded rooms once more, and then, too miserable to remain, he went out upon the dripping galleries, where darkness and the cooled and moistened air yielded a kind of consolation. There he paced and smoked, till life grew bearable again, though still ungenial, and then he went to his room and turned in.