“I should have been very happy,” said Gwendolen looking at her card, “but I am engaged for the next to Mr. Clintock—and indeed I perceive that I am doomed for every quadrille; I have not one to dispose of.” She was not sorry to punish Mr. Grandcourt’s tardiness, yet at the same time she would have liked to dance with him. She gave him a charming smile as she looked up to deliver her answer, and he stood still looking down at her with no smile at all. “I am unfortunate in being too late,” he said, after a moment’s pause. “It seemed to me that you did not care for dancing,” said Gwendolen. “I thought it might be one of the things you had left off.” “Yes, but I have not begun to dance with you,” said Grandcourt. Always there was the same pause before he took up his cue. “You make dancing a new thing, as you make archery.” “Is novelty always agreeable?” “No, no—not always.” “Then I don’t know whether to feel flattered or not. When you had once danced with me there would be no more novelty in it.” “On the contrary, there would probably be much more.” “That is deep. I don’t understand.” “It is difficult to make Miss Harleth understand her power?” Here Grandcourt had turned to Mrs. Davilow, who, smiling gently at her daughter, said, “I think she does not generally strike people as slow to understand.” “Mamma,” said Gwendolen, in a deprecating tone, “I am adorably stupid, and want everything explained to me—when the meaning is pleasant.” “If you are stupid, I admit that stupidity is adorable,” returned Grandcourt, after the usual pause, and without change of tone. But clearly he knew what to say. “I begin to think that my cavalier has forgotten me,” Gwendolen observed after a little while. “I see the quadrille is being formed.” “He deserves to be renounced,” said Grandcourt. “I think he is very pardonable,” said Gwendolen. “There must have been some misunderstanding,” said Mrs. Davilow. “Mr. Clintock was too anxious about the engagement to have forgotten it.” But now Lady Brackenshaw came up and said, “Miss Harleth, Mr. Clintock has charged me to express to you his deep regret that he was obliged to leave without having the pleasure of dancing with you again. An express came from his father, the archdeacon; something important; he was to go. He was _au désespoir_.” “Oh, he was very good to remember the engagement under the circumstances,” said Gwendolen. “I am sorry he was called away.” It was easy to be politely sorrowful on so felicitous an occasion. “Then I can profit by Mr. Clintock’s misfortune?” said Grandcourt. “May I hope that you will let me take his place?” “I shall be very happy to dance the next quadrille with you.”