I was confessor; my cousin or Miss Hart was sinner (each has confessed on the other); the story is about this:—
He stood opposite her in the waltz quadrille. He did not know her, but thought what a pretty girl that was in the pink dress, and wondered if I knew her. (I was in one of the side couples.)
At “Ladies half change,” he reached out his hand with eagerness and she gave hers without reluctance. When they stood in their places again, he continued to hold hers, instead of dropping it as he might. (This may have been absent-mindedness.) Presently she turned to him, smiling, and glanced down at their hands. He smiled, too. Then she withdrew her hand, but without apparent offense.
Just then the order came, “Forward and back.” He reached out his hand for hers, saying, sotto voce, “You see, you might as well have let me keep it.”
This was all the preliminary skirmishing. The question of veracity comes next.
After the dance my cousin came to me.
“Who was that pretty girl opposite me?” He said.
“What girl?” I asked.
“The one in pink: who was to your right: and danced with the man in the wilted collar.”
“Ah! That was Miss Hart. Nice girl.”