He waved his hand familiarly and disappeared in search of the handsome widow. He found her very comfortably seated in an armchair, looking at the dancers with tolerant disdain. She smiled in sympathy as she caught the happy eyes of a girl going round the room in an ecstasy of delight. She nodded with satisfaction when a handsome man passed by. She sought idly to get some notion of character as one physiognomy or another attracted her attention. But what most pleased her was the thought that she herself was merely a spectator. The delights of middle age were by no means to be despised; she was free to go where she would, sufficiently rich, indifferent to the opinion of her fellows. Twenty years ago she nearly broke her heart at a ball because she was obliged to sit out five dances running without a partner, but now her chief wish was that no one should interrupt her enjoyment of that varied scene. Yet when Canon Spratte approached she rose to greet him with every appearance of cordiality. She wore all her diamonds and a gown whose handsome lines showed off the magnificence of her figure. He thought she had never seemed more stately. “May I have the pleasure of a dance?” he asked, smiling, but in the most formal way. Mrs. Fitzherbert opened her eyes wide and stared at him. “What on earth are you talking about?” “I don’t know how I can express myself more plainly,” he laughed. “My dear Canon, I haven’t danced for fifteen years.” “Come,” he said gaily, “I never take a refusal. I know you dance divinely.” “Don’t be so absurd! We should make ourselves perfectly ridiculous. People would roar with laughter and say: ‘Look at those two old fogies doddering round together.’” “Nothing of the sort! They’d say: ‘Look at Theodore Spratte, he’s dancing with the belle of the evening. Isn’t that like him?’” He put his arm round her waist, and notwithstanding a laughing remonstrance bore her into the middle of the room. It was true that he danced well, and for five minutes Mrs. Fitzherbert forgot that she was hard upon fifty. He talked the most charming nonsense. Her eyes began to flash as brightly as his, and she surrendered herself entirely to the pleasure of the waltz. It gave her a curious thrill to feel the strong hand that rested like a caress on her waist. Presently he led her into a little nook, all gay with roses, which had been arranged in an alcove on the stairs. “You detestable creature!” she cried, sinking into a chair. “I was congratulating myself on being out of the turmoil of life, and you’ve made me regret it so that I could almost burst into tears.” “But acknowledge that you enjoyed it. And you know just as well as I do that you were the most beautiful woman in the room.” “How many virtuous matrons have you already assured of that fact to-night?” she asked, with a laugh. “Ah, you think I’m joking, but I’m deadly serious,” he answered. “Then there’s no possible excuse for you.”