Mr. Hawkey Sharpe, bold and unabashed, was there attired _de rigueur_ in evening costume; but even he did not venture on asking Maude to favour him with one dance; yet he ground his sharp teeth from time to time as he watched her and Captain Elliot, and overheard some--but only some of his remarks to her, though Hawkey had the ears of a fox. 'Maudie, darling, I am afraid you are tired,' said Jack tenderly, pausing for a moment. 'Already? Not at all, Jack; I would go on for ever,' exclaimed the girl, and they swept away again. To her how delightful it was, waltzing with him--his hand pressed lightly on her willowy waist, her fingers, gloved and soft and slender, just resting on his shoulder; a faint perfume of her silky hair, a drowsy languor in every movement and in the whole situation. 'After we are married, Maudie,' whispered Jack, 'I am sure I shall disapprove of waltzing.' 'Disapprove--why?' 'Because I shall hate to see you whirling away with another.' 'Don't be a goose, Jack.' 'Won't I have the right to forbid you?' 'A right I shall not recognise. You surely would not be jealous of me?' 'Of you--no; but of others--a humiliating confession, is it not?' he added, smiling tenderly down upon her. Though it was all a hastily got up and _impromptu_ affair, Maude and Annot were radiantly happy; the latter in securing such a lover as Roland Lindsay, with all his surroundings, which she appreciated highly, as they far exceeded the most brilliant hopes and aspirations of herself and her match-making mother in South Belgravia. Her soft cheeks flushed and paled, and her tiny feet--for tiny they were as those of Cinderella--beat responsive to the music; and in the fulness of her own joy even her original emotions of covetousness, and ambition perhaps, were dimmed or lessened; while the dances which she had with Roland seemed quite unlike those she had enjoyed with other men; even when Hawkey Sharpe, who, being a Scotchman, danced of course, ploughing away with the minister's good-natured daughter, cannoned with some violence against them, and made Roland frown and mutter under his moustache till he drew Annot into the recess of a window, and while fanning her, and in doing so lightly ruffling Her shining hair, talked that soft nonsense so dear to them then. 'How childlike you are, Annot, in the brightness of your joy and in your genuine love of amusement!' said he admiringly, as he stooped over her. 'I feel as light as a bird when I hear good dance music like that and have such a good partner as you, Roland,' she exclaimed, looking up, her green hazel eyes beaming with pleasure. 'How could it be otherwise,' said he, 'when, "My love she's but a lassie yet, A lightsome, lovely lassie yet." a sweet one that never had even a passing _penchant_, I am sure, or perhaps a flirtation!'