"It never occurred to you before that I was a young man," he suggested gravely.
She did not reply.
After a little interval, "Imogene," asked Mrs. Bowen, "would you like to dance?"
Colville was astonished. "The veglione has gone to your head, Mrs. Bowen," he tacitly made his comment. She had spoken to Imogene, but she glanced at him as if she expected him to be grateful to her for this stroke of liberality.
"What would be the use?" returned the girl.
Colville rose. "After my performance in the Lancers, I can't expect you to believe me; but I really do know how to waltz." He had but to extend his arms, and she was hanging upon his shoulder, and they were whirling away through a long orbit of delight to the girl.
"Oh, why have you let me do you such injustice?" she murmured intensely. "I never shall forgive myself."
"It grieved me that you shouldn't have divined that I was really a magnificent dancer in disguise, but I bore it as best I could," said Colville, really amused at her seriousness. "Perhaps you'll find out after a while that I'm not an old fellow either, but only a 'Lost Youth.'"
"Hush," she said; "I don't like to hear you talk so."
"How?"