"I was just saying to Miss Falconer that I wish Fate had made me a
great financier instead of a country squire, Orme! By Jove! this place
is a perfect--er--dream; and, when I think of my damp old house--"
"What frightful language!" said Stafford.
Lord Bannerdale laughed.
"If Miss Falconer had not been present, I might just as well have used
the other word. I say I can't help envying your father that magician's
wand with which he manages to raise such marvels. I'm going to find him
and tell him so!"
"A dance?" said Maude, as Stafford proffered his request. "Yes, I have
one, only one; it is this."
He put his arm round her, and as he did so her eyes half closed and her
lip quivered at his touch. Stafford waltzed well, and Maude was far and
away the best dancer in the room; they moved as one body in the slow
and graceful modern waltz, and Stafford, in the enjoyment of this
perfect poetry of motion, forgot everything, even his partner; but he
came back from his reverie as she suddenly paused.
"Are you tired?" he asked. "By George! how perfectly you waltz! I've
never enjoyed a dance more."
A faint colour rose to her face--it had been very pale a moment
before--and she looked at him with an earnestness which rather puzzled
him.
"They say that to agree in waltzing is an unfortunate thing for those
who wish to be friends."
"Do they?" he said, with a smile. "I wonder who it is says all those
silly things? Now, what nonsense this one is, for instance! To enjoy a
dance as I've just enjoyed this, puts a man in a good temper with
himself and his partner; and, of course, makes him feel more friendly.
I'm not a good logician, but that sounds all right, doesn't it?"
"Yes," she said in a low voice. "No, I won't dance any more. I--I am a
little tired to-night and disinclined for dancing."
"All right," he said. "I'm sorry--both that you won't dance and the
cause. You have been doing too much to-day--too long a ride, I expect.
These hills are rather trying to those who are not used to them. Shall
we go and sit in that recess? I'll bring you some wine--"
"No, thanks," she said, quickly; she could not bear him to leave her.
He led her to one of the recesses leading on to the fernery, and found
her a seat near a softly plashing fountain. The lights were shaded with
rose-coloured silk and threw a soft, warm glow upon her face and snowy
neck.