"Mr. Saltonstall. He was in here a fortnight or so ago. His mother and I used to be great friends. I happened to ask him if he knew the Leveretts, and he told me about his brother's marriage, that you were one of the bridesmaids." "Oh, yes. Laura Manning was one of the older girls at Madam Torrey's. They had just gone in their new house and the wedding was splendid. And I liked Mr. Edward Saltonstall so much. He is a most beautiful dancer. I'm so glad he is coming. You see I don't know many of the new dances, and I shouldn't so much mind making a break with him." She looked up in her sweet, brave innocence as she uttered it. "You are not in love with him, little lady, and he is very much smitten with you," Mrs. Stevens ruminated. "But you shall have the chance." "I've always liked Ed," she continued. "He's a nice, frank, honest fellow, pretty gay at times, but not at all in the dissipated line, just full of fun and frolic. So I asked him down, and here he says he will come," waving her note. "I look out for men who dance. I do like to see young folks have a good time. The older people can play cards." It seemed rather odd that at eight o'clock not a soul had come. At home they would be beginning the fun by this time. Then a sudden influx of girls, some she had met before--two or three young men--and then young Saltonstall, who had been counting the moments the last half hour. "I am so glad to see you. It was such a surprise." He could see it in her face, hear it in her voice. He really was afraid of saying something foolish--something that would be no harm if they were alone. "I've known Mrs. Stevens a long while. And Mr. Giles Leverett. It's queer--well, not quite that either--that I've known you such a little while. I always thought of you as a child, though I've seen you drive your pony carriage." "Mrs. Stevens is delightful." Then there was another relay, quite a number of young gentlemen. The black fiddlers in the hall began to tune up. There were two very handsome girls and beautifully gowned. All of them looked pretty in dancing attire. Then a quadrille was called. There were just eight couples. Of course, Mr. Saltonstall took her. The rug was up and the floor had been polished. The dancing was elegant, harmonious. "The next is the Spanish dance. You will like that. The windings about are like the song words to the music." "But--I don't know it;" and she shrank back. "Oh, you'll get into it. You are the kind that could pick up any step. You make me think of a swallow as it darts round. If it made a mistake no one would know it." "Oh, I'd rather not;" entreatingly. "Don't spoil the set." She rose up and let him lead her out. She had a way of yielding so quickly, when it was right and best, very flattering to a man in love and easily misread.