Pelham and Darrell were more and more delighted at every turn in their adventure. Darrell recognized by instinct and Pelham by his naturally thorough reasoning powers that here they had come across an American lady—no sham Englishwoman, with the sham English manner, sham affectation of speech, and with all the defects of an exact imitation. And each of them felt a strange joy at being so close to Elizabeth Brandon. She sat back in the carriage, and they could see her white breast rising and falling as she threw back her large gray cloak; and the soft beauty of her eyes was visible in the half darkness of the carriage. Elizabeth, who, like most Southern women, was naturally talkative, kept singularly quiet. Her gaze was turned towards the spot where they had just been standing, and she was conscious rather than actually saw the dark brown eyes of the man who had stood just behind her and whose presence near her she had felt without seeing him. But she recovered herself and began to talk with a graceful ease and familiarity at once charming and flattering to the two young Englishmen. Mrs. Luttrell, however, held the centre of the stage, according to her invariable custom, and gave Pelham and Darrell a pretty fair idea of what they would meet at the Charity Ball. In a few minutes more the carriage reached the door of the hall, where Baskerville was awaiting them, and he escorted them up the stairs. He utilized the time when Mrs. Luttrell and Elizabeth were in the dressing–room, to introduce the two young officers to several of the men best worth knowing in Washington. As for the ladies, Elizabeth, on removing her cloak, was dismayed to find that her fresh white muslin gown had more than one spot of mud on it, and it took ten minutes of diligent rubbing, washing, and pressing to get it out. She realized that she must have got it from the boots of the man who stood behind her, whose dark and striking face had fixed her attention at first and in whose neighborhood she had felt strangely influenced. And then the loss of her little pearl heart—But the Marine Band was playing loudly a rhythmic waltz, there were partners at the door waiting for her. She had two desirable men, both strangers, whom she might consider her property for that evening. She was young and beautiful, and in a little while all of her unpleasant sensations passed away. She found herself whirling around the room in Darrell’s arms. For a wonder, although an Englishman, he knew how to dance, and Elizabeth was intensely susceptible to rhythm and music. She felt when she began to waltz with Darrell, as if she would like to waltz forever with him. He was so strong, so supple, so graceful,—so susceptible, like herself, to that charm of dance music in which two people dancing together are conscious of that sensuous counterpart of real love which makes a man and a woman feel as if they constituted one being with a single heart and a single soul.