"Will you dance with me to-night at the ball--promise me all the dances you can possibly spare?" and Geoffrey's voice took its most tender tone as he fixed his eyes on Betty's charming face. "All my dances? Nay, two, possibly three, are as many as Clarissa would deem consistent with good manners," returned the maid, unable to forego the pleasure of teasing him; "indeed, I am bewildered even now remembering sundry engagements already made." "The first dance, Betty," said Yorke pleadingly, as he saw the general taking leave, and prepared to accompany him. "Surely you will not deny me that grace?" But Betty only gave him the tips of her fingers in reply as she swept a graceful courtesy. Was it the slight pressure of his hand which accompanied the farewell that made Geoffrey spring gayly into the sleigh and drive off with a half-boyish, half-triumphant smile? CHAPTER XIV THE DE LANCEY BALL The De Lancey mansion, then one of the most famous houses in New York, was on the Bloomingdale Road, and the drive out Bowery Lane ran through meadow-land and green trees in summer, but over hard-packed snow and ice in winter, for it was part of the highroad to Albany. So both Grandma Effingham and Clarissa ordered the fur muffs and hot-water bottles for the feet placed carefully in the sleigh, which Pompey brought to the door just as the night watch went down the street, crying in his slow, bell-like tones, "Eight o'clock, and all's w-e-ll!" Betty, standing muffled in long cloak and fur hood, on the steps of the house, said to herself, with a thrill of excitement, "All's well; please God I may say as much when midnight sounds to-night."