was the least tired, and the room was no longer so crowded.
She looked up. There was no flush of gratification on her face, only avery slight--the slightest possible--sparkle in the beautiful eyes.
"Yes," she said quietly; "I believe I can dance well."
Despard bit his lips. For once in his life he felt absolutely at a losswhat to say. Yet remain silent he would not, for by so doing it seemedto him as if he would be playing into the girl's hands.
"I _will_ make her talk," he vowed internally.
It was not often he cared to exert himself, but he could talk, bothintelligently and agreeably, when he chose to take the trouble. Andgradually, though very gradually only, Miss Fforde began to thaw. She,too, could talk; though her words were never many, they struck him asremarkably well chosen and to the point. Yet more, they incited him tofurther effort. There was the restraint of power about them; not herwords only, but her tone and expression, quick play of her features, thehalf-veiled glances of her eyes, were full of a curious fascination,seeming to tell how charming, how responsive a companion she might be ifshe chose.
But the fascination reacted as an irritant on Mr Norreys. He could notget rid of a mortifying sensation that he was being sounded, and hismeasure taken by this presumptuous little girl. Yet he glanced at her.No; "presumptuous" was not the word to apply to her. He grew almostangry at last, to the extent of nearly losing his self-control.
"You are drawing me out, Miss Ford," he said, "in hopes of my displayingmy ignorance. You know much more about the book in question, and thesubject, than I do. If you will be so good as to tell me all about it,I--"
She glanced up quickly with, for the first time, a perfectly natural andunconstrained expression on her face.
"Indeed--indeed, no," she said. "I am very ignorant. In _some_ ways Ihave had little opportunity of learning."
Despard's face cleared. There was no question of her sincerity.
"I thought you were playing me off," he said boyishly.
Miss Fforde burst out laughing, but she instantly checked herself.
"What a pity," thought Mr Norreys. "I never heard a prettier laugh.""I did, indeed," he repeated, exaggerating his tone in hopes of makingher laugh again.
But it was no use. Her face had regained the calm, formal composure ithad worn at the beginning of the dance.
"She is like three girls rolled into one," thought Despard. "The shy,country-bred miss she seemed at first," and a feeling of shame shotthrough him at the recollection of his stupid judgment, "then this cold,impassive, princess-like damsel, and by fitful glimpses yet another,with nothing in common with either. And, notwithstanding the _role_ shehas chosen to play, I--I strongly suspect it is _but_ a _role_," hedecided hastily.
The riddle interested him.
"May I--will you not give me another dance?" he said deferentially. Forthe tenth waltz had come to an end.
"I am sorry I cannot," she replied. The words were simple and girlish,but the tone was regal. "Good-night, Mr Norreys. I congratulate youon your self-sacrifice at the altar of friendship. You may now takeyour departure with a clear conscience."
He stared. She was repeating some of his own words. Miss Fforde bowedcoldly, and turned away. And Despard, bewildered, mortified even,though he would not own it, yet strangely attracted, and disgusted withhimself for being so, after a passing word or two with his hostess, leftthe house.
An hour or two later Gertrude Englewood was bidding her young guestgood-night.
"And oh, Maisie!" she exclaimed, "how did you get on with Despard? Ishe not delightful?"
Miss Fforde smiled quietly. They were standing in her room, for she wasto spend a night or two with her friend.
"I--to tell you the truth, I would _much_ rather not speak about him,"she said. "He is very good looking, and--well, not stupid, I dare say.But I am not used to men, you know, Gertrude--not to men of the day, atleast, of which I suppose he is a type. I cannot say that I care to seemore of them. I am happier at home with papa."
She turned away quickly. Gertrude did not see the tears that rose tothe girl's eyes, or the rush of colour that overspread her face atcertain recollections of that evening. She was nineteen, but it was herfirst "real" dance, and she felt as if years had passed since theafternoon only two days ago when she had arrived.
Mrs Englewood looked and felt sadly disappointed. She had been sopleased with her own diplomacy.
"It will be different when you are a little more in the way of it," shesaid. "And--I really don't think your father should insist on yourdressing _quite_ so plainly. It will do the very thing he wants toavoid--it will make you remarkable."
"No, no," said Maisie, shaking her head. "Papa is quite right. Youmust allow it had not that effect this evening. No one asked to beintroduced to me."
"There was such a crowd--" Gertrude began, but this time Maisie's smilewas quite a hearty one as she interrupted her.
"Never mind about that," she said. "But do tell me one thing. I sawMr Norreys speaking to you for a moment as he went out. You didn't sayanything about me to him, I hope?"
"No," said Mrs Englewood, "I did not. I would have liked to do so,"she added honestly, "but somehow he looked queer--not exactly bored, butnot encouraging. So I just let him go."
"That's right," said Maisie; "thank you. I am so glad you didn't. I dohope I shall never see him again," she added to herself.
CHAPTER TWO.
A hope not destined to be fulfilled.
For though Maisie wrote home to "papa" the morning after MrsEnglewood's dance, earnestly begging for leave to return to the countryat once instead of going on to her next visit, and assuring him that shefelt she would never be happy in fashionable society, never be happy_anywhere_, indeed, away from him and everything she cared for, papa wasinexorable. It was natural she should be homesick at first, he replied;natural, and indeed unavoidable, that she should feel strange andlonely; and, as she well knew, she could not possibly long more, to bewith him again, than he longed to have her; but there were all thereasons she knew full well why she should stay in town as had beenarranged; the very reasons which had made him send her now made him sayshe must remain. Her own good sense would show her the soundness of hismotives, and she must behave like his own brave Maisie. And the girlnever knew what this letter had cost her invalid father, nor how heshrank from opposing her wishes.
"She set off so cheerfully," he said to himself, "and she has only beenthere three days. And she seemed rather to have enjoyed her firstdinner-party and the concert, or whatever it was, that GertrudeEnglewood took her to. What can have happened at the evening party?She dances well, I know; and she is not the sort of girl to expect orcare much about ball-room admiration."
Poor man! it was, so far, a disappointment to him. He would have likedto get a merry, happy letter that morning as he sat at his solitarybreakfast. For he had no fear, no shadow of a fear, that his Maisie'shead ever could be turned.
"I have guarded against any dangers of that kind for her, at least," hesaid to himself, "provided I have not gone too far and made her toosober-minded. But no; after all, it is erring on the safe side--considering everything."
Three or four evenings after Mrs Englewood's dance Despard foundhimself at a musical party. He was in his own _milieu_ this time, andproportionately affable--with the cool, condescending affability whichwas the nearest approach to making himself agreeable that he recognised.He had been smiled at by the beauty of the evening, much enjoying herdiscomfiture when he did _not_ remain many minutes by her side; he hadbeen all but abjectly entreated by the most important of the dowagers, avery great lady indeed, in every sense of the word, to promise hisassistance at her intended theatricals; he had, in short, received theappreciation which was due to him, and was now resting on his oars,comfortably installed in an easy chair, debating within himself whetherit was worth while to give Mrs Belmont a fright by engrossing herpretty daughter, and thus causing to retire from her s
ide in the sulksSir Henry Gayburn, to whom the girl was talking. For Sir Henry wasrich, and was known to be looking out for a wife, and Despard had longsince been erased from the maternal list of desirable possibilities.
"Shall I?" he was saying to himself as he lay back with a smile, when avoice beside him made him look up. It was that of the son of the house,a friend of his own; the young man seemed annoyed and perplexed.
"Norreys! oh, do me a good turn, will you? I have to look after thelady who has just been singing, and my mother is fussing about a girlwho has been sitting all the evening alone. She's a stranger. Will yoube so awfully good as to take her down for an ice or something?"
Despard looked round. He could scarcely refuse a request so couched,but he was far from pleased.
"Where is she? Who is she?" he asked, beginning languidly to show signsof moving.
"There--over by the window--that girl in black," his friend replied."Who she is I can't say. My mother told me her name was Ford. Comealong, and I'll introduce you, that's a good fellow."
Despard by this time had risen to his feet.
"Upon my soul!" he ejaculated.
But Mr Leslie was in too great a hurry to notice the unusual emphasiswith which he spoke.
And in half a second he found himself standing in front of the girl,who, the last time they met, had aroused in him such unwonted emotions.
"Miss Ford," murmured young Leslie, "may I introduce Mr Norreys?" andthen Mr Leslie turned on his heel and disappeared.
Despard stood there perfectly grave. He would hazard no repulse; hewaited for her.
She looked up, but there was no smile on her face--only the calmself-composedness which it seemed to him he knew so well. How was itso? Had he met her before in some former existence? Why did all abouther seem at once strange and yet familiar? He had never experienced thelike before.
These thoughts--scarcely thoughts indeed--flickered through his brain ashe looked at her. They served one purpose at least, they prevented hisfeeling or looking awkward, could such a state of things have beenconceived possible.
Seeing that he was not going to speak, remembering, perhaps, that if_he_ remembered the last words she had honoured him with, he couldscarcely be expected to do so, she at last opened her lips.
"That," she said quietly, slightly inclining her head in the directionwhere young Leslie had stood, "was, under the circumstances,unnecessary."
"He did not know," said Despard.
"I suppose not; though I don't know. Perhaps you told him you hadforgotten my name."
"No," he replied, "I did not. It would not have been true."
She smiled very slightly.
"There is no dancing to-night," she said. "May I ask--?" and shehesitated.
"Why I ventured to disturb you?" he interrupted. "I was requested totake you downstairs for an ice or whatever you may prefer to that. Thefarce did not originate with me, I assure you."
"Do you mean by that that you will _not_ take me downstairs?" she said,smiling again as she got up from her seat. "I should like an ice verymuch."
Despard bowed without speaking, and offered her his arm.
But when he had piloted her through the crowd, and she was standingquietly with her ice, he broke the silence.
"Miss Ford," he began, "as the fates have again forced me on yournotice, I should like to ask you a question."
She raised her eyes inquiringly. No--he had not exaggerated theirbeauty.
"I should like to know the meaning of the strange words you honoured mewith as I was leaving Mrs Englewood's the other evening. I do notthink you have forgotten them."
"No," she replied, "I have not forgotten them, and I meant them, and Istill mean them. But I will not talk about them or explain anything Isaid."
There was nothing the least flippant in her tone--only quietdetermination. But Despard, watching keenly, saw that her lips quivereda little as she spoke.
"As you choose," he said. "Of course, in the face of such a veryuncompromising refusal, I can say nothing more."
"Then shall we go upstairs again?" proposed Miss Fforde.
Mr Norreys acquiesced. But he had laid his plans, and he was a morediplomatic adversary than Miss Fforde was prepared to cope with.
"I finished reading the book we were speaking of the other evening," hebegan in a matter-of-fact voice; "I mean--" and he named the book. "Atleast, I fancy it was you I was discussing it with. The last volumefalls off greatly."
"Oh, _do_ you think so?" said the girl in a tone of half-indignantdisappointment, falling blindly into the trap. "I, on the contrary,felt that the last volume made amends for all that was unsatisfactory inthe others. You see by it what he was driving at all the time, and thatthe _persiflage_ and apparent cynicism were only means to an end. I do_hate_ cynicism--it is so easy, and such a little makes such a greateffect."
Something in her tone made Despard feel irritated. "Is she hitting atme again?" he thought. And the idea threw him, in his turn, off hisguard.
The natural result was that both forgot themselves in the interest ofthe discussion. And Despard, when he, as it were, awoke to therealisation of this, took care not to throw away the advantage he hadgained. He drew her out, he talked as he but seldom exerted himself todo, and when, at the end of half-an-hour or so, an elderly lady, whom heknew by name only, was seen approaching them, and Miss Fforde sprang toher feet, exclaiming,--
"Have you been looking for me? I hope not--" he smiled quietly as heprepared to withdraw--he had succeeded!
"Good-night, Mr Norreys," said Maisie simply.
"Two evenings ago she would not say good-night at all," he thought. Buthe made no attempt to do more than bow quietly.
"You are very--cold, grim--no, I don't know what to call it, Maisie,dear," said the lady, her cousin and present chaperone, as they droveaway, "in your manner to men; and that man in particular--DespardNorreys. It is not often he is so civil to any girl."
"I detest all men--all young men," replied Maisie irritably.
"But, my dear, you should be commonly civil. And he had been givinghimself, for him, unusual trouble to entertain you."
"Can he know about her? Oh, no, it is impossible," she added toherself.
Miss Fforde closed her lips firmly. But in a moment or two she openedthem again.
"Cousin Agnes," she said, half smiling, "I am afraid you are quitemistaken. If I had not been what you call `commonly civil,' would hehave gone on talking to me? On the contrary, I am sadly afraid I wasfar too civil."
"My dear child," ejaculated her cousin, "what do you mean?"
"Oh," said Maisie, "I don't know. Never mind the silly things I say. Ilike being with you, Cousin Agnes, but I don't like London. I am muchhappier at home in the country."
"But, my dear child, when I saw you at home a few months ago you werelooking forward with pleasure to coming. What has changed you? Whathas disappointed you?"
"I am not suited for anything but a quiet country life--that is all,"said Miss Fforde.
"But, then, Maisie, afterwards, you know, you will _have_ to come totown and have a house of your own and all that sort of thing. It isnecessary for you to see something of the world to prepare you for--"
"Afterwards isn't _now_, Cousin Agnes. And I am doing my best, as papawished," said the girl weariedly. "Do let us talk of something else.Really sometimes I do wish I were any one but myself."
"Maisie," said her cousin reproachfully, "you know, dear, that isn'tright. You must take the cares and responsibilities of a position likeyours along with the advantages and privileges of it."
"I know," Miss Fforde replied meekly enough; "but, Cousin Agnes, do tellme who was that very funny-looking man with the long fluffy beard whomyou were talking to for some time."
"Oh, that, my dear, was Count Dalmiati, the celebrated so-and-so," andonce launched in her descriptions Cousin Agnes left Maisie in peace.
Two days later came the afternoon of Lady Val
ence's garden-party. Itwas one of the garden parties to which "everybody" went--Despard Norreysfor one, as a matter of course. He had got more gratification and lessannoyance out of his second meeting with Miss Fforde; for he flatteredhimself he knew how to manage her now--"that little girl in black, whothinks herself so wonderfully wise, forsooth!" Yet the sting was therestill; the very persistence with which he repeated to himself that hehad mastered her showed it. His thoughts recurred to her more than theywere in the habit of doing to any one or anything but his own immediateconcerns. Out of curiosity, merely, no doubt; curiosity increased bythe apparent improbability of satisfying it. For no one seemed to knowanything about her. She might have dropped from the skies. He hadindeed some difficulty in recalling her personality to the two or threepeople to whom he applied for information.
"A girl in black--at the Leslies' musical party? Why, my dear fellow,there were probably a dozen girls in black there. There usually is agood sprinkling of black frocks at evening parties," said one of theknowers of everybody whom he had selected to honour with his inquiries."What was there remarkable about her? There must have been something toattract _your_ notice."
"No, on the contrary," Despard replied, "she was remarkablyunremarkable;"