Seeing only the face one would guess it to be accompanied by rich golden hair, but this girl’s was of that shade which can only be described as mouse-coloured, and it grew light and fluffy, rather low on her forehead, its curious contrast with the warm complexion putting her quite out of the common run of red-cheeked, yellow-locked county beauties. Her neck was long and slim, and she carried herself perfectly when moving, though there was a lack of repose about her whole personality when she stood still. She was dressed charmingly in some shiny, silky stuff with a pattern of blue forget-me-nots running over it. On the front of her bodice she wore a small artificial bunch of these flowers, and a wreath of the same in her hair.
Many people besides Harry were looking at her, and she was evidently entirely aware of the fact.
For the rest of that dance he kept the eye of a lynx upon the unconscious Tom Bradford, and when that youth had finally resigned his partner to the chaperonage of a pleasant-looking spinster, he was off like an arrow after him. Llewellyn looked on rather grimly; he had some experience of his brother’s flames.
The more precise customs of those days required that young men should first be introduced to the chaperons of their would-be partners, and Harry found himself bowing before the lady whom Tom Bradford named as Miss Ridgeway. She in turn presented him to the girl beside her, who was fluttering her fan and smiling.
“My niece, Miss Isoline Ridgeway,” she said, throwing an approving look on the open-faced young fellow.
By some miracle it appeared that Miss Isoline was not engaged for the next dance, and as a portly Minor Canon appeared at this juncture and led away her aunt to the refreshment table, the two were left together. Harry’s heart beat; now that he was safely introduced to the object of his admiration he could not think what to say to her. Besides, he was afraid that Llewellyn was looking.
“I was—I mean—I have been trying to get introduced to you for ever so long,” he stammered out at last, quite forgetting that he had only caught sight of her about ten minutes before.
“Then I hope you are grateful to Mr. Bradford,” she replied.
“Yes, I am,” said Harry. “Tom is a very good fellow,” he added, more because the sound of his own voice was encouraging than for any other reason.
Isoline glanced over her shoulder towards her late partner, as if she would say that she did not think much of Mr. Bradford.