“Your pardon, madam,” says I, quickly, “but sure you are pleased to jest. I make so bold as to think that we should be an excellent good match. I myself am twenty-six years old, as your ladyship hath perhaps forgot.”
“Twenty-six!” saith my lady, looking upon me with some trouble in her eyes, “I had not imagined you could be older than twenty-two or three. But I am twenty-eight, Mr Carlyon, almost an old woman. I han’t danced for years, and I don’t desire to do’t again.”
“Madam,” says I, “suffer me to say that the passing years, so envious to some ladies, do but add to you the gifts they snatch from others.”
I was not a little proud of this compliment, but Madam Heliodora still gazed upon me sadly, and said naught. Then there come to us my lord, Colonel Laborde being now departed, and demanded to know the matter of our serious discourse. Then I, willing to avoid that topic of age, which had in some way grieved my lady, made answer that her ladyship and I spake concerning dancing. And upon this my lord, inquiring whether I could dance, sat down in his great chair, saying—
“I have a mind to see you dance, sir, if it ben’t displeasing to you. My daughter, will you have the kindness to grant Mr Carlyon your support in a gavot?”
“Sir,” says Madam Heliodora, hastily, “I entreat you to pardon me, and you also, Mr Carlyon, and to excuse me from this dance, without you particularly desire it.”
“I do especially desire it, my daughter,” says he. “Give me your theorba, and I will play for you, if my fingers han’t altogether lost their cunning. Do you take your stand there, if you please, Mr Carlyon.”
I did as he bade me, and he playing a most dainty tune, Madam Heliodora rose from her seat, and stood facing me. And with so much dignity and grace did she dance, as that I was ashamed to have put myself forward to stand up with her. But so sad and serious was her face the while, that it might have fitted a funeral, and having gone through the measure in silence, she returned still silent to her place. And I being unable to win her to resume her usual cheerfulness, although my lord was very sprightly, and did make me many fine compliments, I did take my leave early, and returned to my lodging, marvelling much at the change in my lady’s conditions towards me. And yet, even then (so foolish is youth!), my own hopes flattered me into believing that my lady was tired, and would fain have rested herself and talked with me quietly, and that my twice gainsaying of her wishes, first in refusing the topics she did choose, and then in unmannerly pestering her to dance, had caused her to show herself thus grieved and displeased.
Now the next morning, when I was about going abroad with Mr Marigny, for to see the late camping-ground of the King of Gulconda’s army, for they were now, since the return of my lord, gone back to their former posts at some distance, we met with his lordship, who was about embarking in his barge for to row round the harbour and see what damage might have been done by the shots of the Dutch. He bade me come with him, and leave Mr Marigny find some other companion, and so I did, being sensible of the honour showed me, to be alone with my lord, save only for his Indian rowers, that spake no tongue of Europe. I wondered much whether my lord desired to speak with me that he carried me thus with him, but he said nothing of any moment until we were out in the harbour, and well beyond the reach of prying persons. Then he looked upon me in that way he had, that seemed to see everything without any striving thereto, and “Mr Carlyon,” says he, “I am infinitely obliged to you for your care of my daughter in my absence.”
“My lord,” says I, “such little service as I could render to her ladyship was in itself a pleasure.”