"You know very well it is not that I am thinking of," said John, in a low tone. "Well, I should not have expected it to be. A young man like you, in the best society, is not likely to trouble himself about a country girl he doesn't know." "At all events, the other occasion was a very different matter," he said. "What other occasion? One would think there was some great mystery between us. If you will come down from these stilts, and tell me what you mean----" "That is just what I am most anxious to do--if I could for a moment suppose you had forgotten it! It was rather a different thing from a meeting at a ball." "You had better wait a little," she said, sharply; "it is our turn for this figure." And then they danced. I forget now what these figures were called. It was the one in which the lady on one side is led off by the gentleman on the other side, who advances to the abandoned partner with a lady in each hand. John was the man who had to stand and look on. She had recovered all her spirit, all her freshness, it appeared, and made of this innocent performance a parade of gaiety and grace. She came up to him and retired from him, holding the hand of the other with the most coquettish defiance, and swept him such a curtsy as she might have made to the king--deeper even, with mock deference and scorn, which was considered very amusing by all the lookers-on. "You should have seen Marion dancing L'Eté" (or whatever it was) "with the man from Edinburgh," they all said afterwards. John had been "too much made of" since his arrival and his adventure: it was delightful that he should thus be made to feel "put back in his place" without any one being to blame. And John, I will not deny, felt the sting: but he was stimulated by it, not depressed. In the quiet of the interval that followed, while the others were dancing, he made his attack on more decided lines. "Where," he said--"I have always been very curious--did you hide all those dreadful things you had on?--the hoods, and the handkerchiefs, and the veil." A spark flashed up into her eyes--was it possible there was a laugh in it that showed through both the affected wonder and the actual fear? "What in the world do you mean?" she said; "the handkerchiefs and the hoods and--have you gone mad, Mr Percival?" "Not a bit," said John, "nor you either. We're two very sane people. How you flashed it off in a moment might be just a woman's skill--but not to drop it on the road, not to let it be found anywhere, that's what I have always admired: it shows you have great force, and it really looked, you'll forgive me for saying, as if you had done such a thing before." She turned round, swerving a little from his side. "If you're exposed it's your own fault," she cried, hurriedly, and in a very low tone. "I am afraid to dance with you any more."