"Let not your lady hear that!" said Silver Heels, with her fan hiding her lips. "How do you know, sir, which partner fate and Mr. Bevan may allot you?"
Mr. Bevan and I regarded each other in solemn hostility.
"May I have the honour of attaching this ribbon to your hilt, sir?" he asked, stiffly.
"You may, sir," said I, still more stiffly, "if it is necessary."
He tied a red bow-knot to my hilt; we bowed to each other, then with a smile and a word to Silver Heels which I did not catch, he saluted us again and strolled off with his nose in the air and his hands full of ribbons of every hue—the fop!
"Who is that pitiful ass?" I said, turning to Silver Heels.
"Why, Michael!" she protested, reproachfully, yet smiling, too.
"Oh, if he's one of your friends, I ask indulgence," said I, mad enough to pluck the blue knot from her arm.
"Truly, Michael," she sniffed, "you are still very young."
She seated herself by the big clock; I sat beside her, sullenly, and for a time I peered at her sideways. Verily, the impossible had overtaken us; she appeared to be fully as tall as half the ladies gathered around us; her self-possession and obvious indifference to me completed my growing discomfort. I looked at her small, silk-covered toes pushing out under her petticoat.