'As you see, Madame!' said Hazel, with a slight bend and laugh.
'You not dancing! What's the matter?'
'Well—you will find it is a freak, or I tired myself last night, or I want to make a sensation—according to whom you ask,' said Wych Hazel.
'You are not forbidden?' whispered the lady, in a lower tone.
'No, Madame.'
'You seem to have so many guardians,' the lady went on,—'and guardians are selfish, my dear; horribly selfish. For that, I think all men are, whether guardians or not.'
'Just now,' said Wych Hazel, 'I am the selfish one,—keeping
Mr. May from dancing.' Which supposed view of the case Mr.
May, like a wise man, did not try to answer—just then.
The German began. One or two ordinary figures first, but watched by Wych Hazel with eager eyes.
'Yes, of course!' she said to herself, as Kitty Fisher went round with her head on her partner's shoulder,—'if he thought I did that.' Could he think it?—the little white glove tips so nearly withdrew themselves from the black coat-sleeve they were touching, that Mr. May turned to ask if she was tired and wished to sit down.
But motions that were pretty to look at followed: each couple in turn passing through an avenue of little coloured flags, which held out by the motionless couples on either side, met and crossed over the heads of the dancers. Down came Stuart Nightingale and Miss Fisher, and Mr. Burr and Phinny Powder, and Major Seaton and Miss May,—Wych Hazel looked on, smiling, and with a stir of her little right foot. How often she had come down just so! Then began a figure that she did not know: they were going to 'practise,' Kitty Fisher called out, recommending her to come.