Wilton tried to look into her eyes, to catch their expression when she uttered these words, but in vain--they were wandering with animated delight over the gay scene and whirling figures, while her hand, half unconsciously, was stretched up to his shoulder. The next moment they were floating away to the strains of one of Strauss's dreamy waltzes. "And where did you last dance?" asked Wilton, as they paused for breath. "Oh! at M----, under the great chestnut trees. There was an Austrian band there; and, although such tyrants, they make excellent music, the Austrians. It was so lovely and fresh that evening." "And who were your partners--Austrian or Italian?" "Neither; I only danced with Diego--dear, good Diego. Do not speak of it! I want to forget now. I want to enjoy this one evening--just this one." There was wonderful pathos in her voice and eyes; but Wilton only said, "Then, if you are rested, we will go on again." He could not trust himself to say more at that moment. When the dance was ended, Wilton, anxious to avoid drawing any notice upon his partner, led her at once to Miss Walker, and considerably astonished that lady by asking her for the next quadrille. For several succeeding dances he purposely avoided Ella, while he distributed his attentions with judicious impartiality; although he managed to see that she danced more than once, but never with St. George, who seemed to avoid her. At last, the move to supper was made, and, at the same time, a gay gallop was played, to employ the younger guests and keep them from crowding upon their elders while in the sacred occupation of eating. Seeing the daughters of the house deeply engaged, Wilton indulged himself in another dance with Ella. When they ceased, the room was wellnigh cleared. "Now, tell me," said Wilton--his heart beating fast, for he was resolved not to part with his companion until he had told her the passionate love which she had inspired--till he had won her to some avowal, or promise, or explanation--"tell me, have you had nothing all this time? No ice, or wine, or--" "Yes--an ice; it was very good." "And you would like another? Come, we are more likely to find it in the refreshment-room than at supper, and be less crowded too; unless your mind is fixed on game pie and champagne?" While he forced himself to speak lightly, he scarce heard his own spoken words, for listening to the burning sentences forming themselves in his brain, and for planning how to find some blessed opportunity of being alone with the fair girl, whose hand, as it rested on his arm, he could not help pressing to his side. "No, no," she exclaimed, smiling, "I do not care for game pie; but I should like an ice."