"I am very sorry," she laughed, with assumed nonchalance; "but I had to assist my father with some business papers."
"Your mother told everyone that you do not care for dancing," he said.
"That is untrue, Walter. I love dancing."
"I knew it was untrue, dearest," he said, standing before her. "But why does Lady Heyburn go out of her way to throw cold water upon you and all your works?"
"How should I know?" asked the girl, with a slight shrug. "Perhaps it is because my father places more confidence in me than in her."
"And his confidence is surely not misplaced," he said. "I tell you frankly that I don't like Lady Heyburn."
"She pretends to like you."
"Pretends!" he echoed. "Yes, it's all pretence. But," he added, "do tell me the real reason of your absence last night, Gabrielle. It has worried me."
"Why worry, my dear Walter? Is it really worth troubling over? I'm only a girl, and, as such, am allowed vagaries of nerves—and all that. I simply didn't want to come, that's all."
"Why?"