“Col. Redacre’s name and valor were known to us all in the Crimea, mademoiselle,” said M. Darvallon, bowing deferentially.
Both the girls blushed with pleasure, and turned a smile of fullest approbation on the speaker.
“I told you he was a flatterer,” said Léon.
Before M. Darvallon could enter a protest some one spoke from behind him.
“I say, Léopold, you are going to catch it for staying away from your mother so long with these young ladies. She’s very angry with you.”
“It’s no fault of M. Léon’s,” said Polly. “We stayed ourselves, dancing; that’s what we came for.”
“We had better go back to my mother and make an acte de présence,” said Léon. “Where is she, Kingspring?”
“Where you left her, in the Salle du Trône. I have just conducted Mlle. Blanche there after waltzing with her.”
Mr. Kingspring moved towards Pearl, as if he expected to conduct her back; but M. Darvallon proffered his arm, and she took it.
On their way through the long ball-room they met Blanche waltzing down on them with a slim, sallow-faced partner, of the type that Polly called “scrubby.” The partners pulled up, and then she saw that Blanche was radiant with smiles, and listening with delighted attention to whatever the scrubby man was saying.