Phil bowed, and edged his way to a corner, where in solitude and wretchedness he beheld Lucia go through a quadrille, bestowing smiles in rapid succession upon her partner, who was to Phil’s eyes too utterly insignificant to deserve a single glance from those fairest eyes in the world. His lips hardened as he saw Lucia occasionally whirled to her place by the arm of her partner boldly encircling her waist. He had always thought dancing was wrong; now he knew it. At Haynton the young people occasionally went through a dance called “Sir Roger de Coverley,” but there was no hugging in that. And Lucia did not seem at all displeased by her partner’s familiarity,--confound it! He had to unbend and forget his anger when the quadrille ended, for a pretty maiden to whom he had been introduced accosted him and said some cheerful nothings, fluttering suggestively a miniature fan on which were pencilled some engagements to dance. But soon the music of a waltz arose, and Phil’s eye flashed, to a degree that frightened the maiden before him, for directly in front of him, with a man’s arm permanently about her slender waist and her head almost pillowed on her partner’s shoulder, was Lucia. More dreadful still, she seemed not only to accept the situation, but to enjoy it; there was on her face a look of dreamy content that Phil remembered having seen when she swung in a hammock at Haynton. He remembered that then he had thought it angelic, but--then there was no arm about her waist. The pretty maiden with the fan had looked to see what had affected the handsome young man so unpleasantly. “Oh,” she whispered, “he _is_ dreadfully awkward. I positively shiver whenever he asks me for a dance.” “Awkward, indeed!” exclaimed Phil. A very young man with a solemn countenance came over just then to remind the maiden with the fan that the next quadrille would be his: so she floated away, bestowing upon Phil a parting smile far too sweet to be utterly wasted, as it was. “You seem unhappy, Mr. Hayn,” said Miss Dinon, rejoining Phil. “I really believe it’s because you don’t dance. Confess, now.” “You ought to be a soothsayer, Miss Dinon, you are so shrewd at guessing,” said Phil, forcing a smile and then mentally rebuking himself for lying. “Won’t you attempt at least a quadrille? The next one will be very easy.” “Phil!” exclaimed Lucia, coming up to him with an odd, defiant look, part of which was given to Miss Dinon, “you’re too mean for anything. You haven’t asked me for a single dance.” Phil’s smile was of the sweetest and cheeriest as he replied,-- “Wouldn’t it be meaner to ask for what I wouldn’t know how to accept? We country-people don’t know how to dance.” “But any one can go through a quadrille: it’s as easy as walking.” “You couldn’t have a better opportunity than the next dance, Mr. Hayn,” said Miss Dinon, “nor a more graceful partner and instructor than Miss Tramlay.”