She had heard the name of Jonathan Stubbs. She was sure of that, although she could not at the moment join any facts with the name. "But I don't know you," she said, hesitating. Though he was so ugly he could not but be better than that ancient dancer whom she saw standing at a distance, looking like a dog that has been deprived of his bone. "Yes, you do," said Jonathan Stubbs, "and if you'll come and dance I'll tell you about it. The Marchesa told me to take you." "Did she?" said Ayala, getting up, and putting her little hand upon his arm. "I'll go and fetch her if you like; only she's a long way off, and we shall lose our place. She's my aunt." "Oh," said Ayala, quite satisfied,--remembering now that she had heard her friend Nina boast of a Colonel cousin, who was supposed to be the youngest Colonel in the British army, who had done some wonderful thing,--taken a new province in India, or marched across Africa, or defended the Turks,--or perhaps conquered them. She knew that he was very brave,--but why was he so very ugly? His hair was ruby red, and very short; and he had a thick red beard: not silky, but bristly, with each bristle almost a dagger,--and his mouth was enormous. His eyes were very bright, and there was a smile about him, partly of fun, partly of good humour. But his mouth! And then that bristling beard! Ayala was half inclined to like him, because he was so completely master of himself, so unlike the unhappy ancient gentleman who was still hovering at a distance. But why was he so ugly? And why was he called Jonathan Stubbs? "There now," he said, "we can't get in at any of the sets. That's your fault." "No, it isn't," said Ayala. "Yes, it is. You wouldn't stand up till you had heard all about me." "I don't know anything about you now." "Then come and walk about and I'll tell you. Then we shall be ready for a waltz. Do you waltz well?" "Do you?" "I'll back myself against any Englishman, Frenchman, German, or Italian, for a large sum of money. I can't come quite up to the Poles. The fact is, the honester the man is the worse he always dances. Yes; I see what you mean. I must be a rogue. Perhaps I am;--perhaps I'm only an exception. I knew your father." "Papa!" "Yes, I did. He was down at Stalham with the Alburys once. That was five years ago, and he told me he had a daughter named Ayala. I didn't quite believe him." "Why not?" "It is such an out-of-the-way name." "It's as good as Jonathan, at any rate." And Ayala again nodded her head. "There's a prejudice about Jonathan, as there is about Jacob and Jonah. I never could quite tell why. I was going to marry a girl once with a hundred thousand pounds, and she wouldn't have me at last because she couldn't bring her lips to say Jonathan. Do you think she was right?" "Did she love you?" said Ayala, looking up into his face.