Peggy smiled behind her fan at the Governor's notion that it was she who had done the talking. She wished--she did wish Christopher could have heard him say it, though. But Christopher, when she begged him to be present at the dance, had shaken his head and answered that he should not know how to carry himself at a ball. Peggy, remembering her mother's stories of Christopher at court, and how Queen Henrietta had asked to have him presented to her as the finest gallant at Buckingham Palace, had fallen to crying then. Even now, following her little vanity came a great rush of pity and tenderness that brought the quick tears, and made her glad when the dance was ended, and Sir William, bowing low over her hand, led her to her seat with a kiss. "Uncle William has resigned her at last," said the Governor's niece, who was talking with Romney in a corner under the musician's balcony. "Do you admire her as much as the other men do?" "_Her?_" asked Romney, with a fine show of indifference. "Mistress Neville, I mean, that they all talk of as if nothing like her was ever seen before." "Do they?" "Ay, Master Lawrence says she lights the hall more than all the candles, while Colonel Payne says that her dancing is poetry and her talk is music." "Indeed!" "Ay, and Captain Snow is worst of all, for he follows her about with his eyes opened twice as big as usual, lest he lose a single glance. If you doubt me, look at Polly Claiborne, who thought she had him safely landed for a husband, and now sees him drifting in the tow of another bark. She is furious." "She looks calm enough." "In the face, yes, but look at her hands; they are wringing that unlucky lace kerchief as if 'twere her rival's neck. But you have not said what you think of this paragon." "I was looking at you." "_Toward_ me, not _at_ me, and ever and anon your eyes took a holiday and wandered off to the Beauty. Oh, it is fine to be a Beauty with a capital letter. Yet I think really it is more her manner that charms than her looks. She has the air of being so pleased with each man she meets, and so more than pleased that he finds pleasure in looking at her." "She does." "It looks like vanity. Say you not so?" "It surely does--like coquetry, which is the very essence of vanity." "'Tis well she hears you not." "I will go over now, and you shall see me tell her so," Romney said, as a man joined them. "It was a shrewd device; but it fails to deceive me," thought his companion. "He is in love, and he is jealous." "It is like the days at old Romney Hall, is it not, sweetheart?" said the master of the house, standing beside his wife, as they watched the lines of men and maidens gliding down the length of the room, their gorgeous brocades and glistening jewels reflected as in a mirror in the polished floor. "Ay," answered Elizabeth, "and the county of Devon could not show more pretty faces than are here to-night. Nancy Lynch is a beauty, and Kitty Lee has the loveliest crinkly hair."