“You can’t get back. I’ll appeal to the guard. I’ll have you locked up if you don’t behave yourself.” “You should behave yourself. Really, Katherine, you must be careful what you say, or you’ll make me feel very unhappy.” Katherine caught her by the elbow, and gave it an affectionate little squeeze. “Don’t be frightened, Miss Propriety, I wouldn’t make you unhappy for the world. But surely you’re going to dance?” Dorothy shook her head. “Some other time. Not to-night. There are too many people here. I shouldn’t enjoy it, and--there are other reasons. This is all so new and strange to me: these brilliant men and beautiful women--the lights, the music, everything--it is as if I had stepped into another world; something I had read about, or perhaps dreamed about, and never expected to see.” “Why, you dear girl, I’m not going to dance either, then.” “Oh, yes, you will, Katherine; you must.” “I couldn’t be so selfish as to leave you here all alone.” “It isn’t selfish at all, Katherine. I shall enjoy myself completely here. I don’t really wish to talk to any one, but simply to enjoy my dream, with just a little fear at the bottom of my heart that I shall suddenly wake up, rubbing my eyes, in the sewing room.” Katherine pinched her. “Now are you awake?” Dorothy smiled, still dreaming. “Hello!” cried Katherine, with renewed animation, “they’ve got the Secretary safe aboard the lugger, and they seem to be clearing the decks for action. Here is my dear Lieutenant returning; tall even among tall men. Look at him. He’s in a great hurry, yet so polite, and doesn’t want to bump against anybody. And now, Dorothy, don’t you be afraid. I shall prove a perfect model of diffidence. You will be proud of me when you learn with what timidity I pronounce prunes and prism. I think I must languish a little at him. I don’t know quite how it’s done, but in old English novels the girls always languished, and perhaps an Englishman expects a little languishment in his. I wonder if he comes of a noble family. If he doesn’t, I don’t think I’ll languish very much. Still, what matters the pomp of pageantry and pride of race--isn’t that the way the poem runs? I love our dear little Lieutenant for himself alone, and I think I will have just one dance with him, at least.” Drummond had captured a camp-stool somewhere, and this he placed at right angles to the settee, so that he might face the two girls, and yet not interrupt their view. The sailor on guard once more faded away, and the band now struck up the music of the dance. “Well,” cried Drummond cheerfully, “I’ve got everything settled. I’ve received the Secretary of the Navy: our captain is to dance with his wife, and the Secretary is Lady Angela’s partner. There they go!” For a few minutes the young people watched the dance, then the Lieutenant said: “Ladies, I am disappointed that you have not complimented our electrical display.”