'Number seven,' said Annabelle, affecting to consult her card, while Fotheringhame gave him an impatient stare, for his dislike of Hew was great. 'How handsome your cousin Miss Montgomerie is,' said he. 'She is full of goodness of heart and common sense too,' added Annabelle. 'I hope she will prove a girl of very uncommon sense,' said Fotheringhame. 'In what way?' asked Hew. 'By preferring a Cameronian to any other man,' replied Fotheringhame with perfect coolness; and Annabelle laughed to see the gleam that shot athwart the eyes of Hew, as he swept away with her into the dance, to begin a series of 'cannons' again, and elicit remarks of wrath under many a moustache. 'I don't know what your plans are, old fellow,' said Fotheringhame to Cecil, as their eyes mutually followed Mary, admiringly, through the maze of waltzers, 'but, if I were in your place, I would write to Sir Piers, and give him fair warning that I meant to use every means to win his ward.' 'Nay, Leslie; I have already won her,' interrupted Falconer, a little triumphantly. 'Well--all the better; and if the girl loved me as she loves you, and as Annabelle tells me, I would have her in spite of all the guardians in Scotland!' But there was no answering smile in the face of Cecil, who remembered how his last visit to the house of Sir Piers ended, and the summary manner in which the old man rang the bell to have him shown out! And now for a time he remained among the crowd of men--the inert or uninterested--who hovered about the doorway, critically watching the dancers, and he heard Mary again and again praised, as she swept past in a succession of waltzes. The genuine praises of some delighted him; but there were occasional off-hand remarks that made him inclined to punch more than one head. 'Not a bad-looking girl at all,' lisped a Lancer; 'wish she wouldn't lay on the powder so freely, though.' 'Powder!' said Bickerton of that Ilk, a well-browned young fellow in the blue-and-gold-laced uniform of the Ayrshire Yeomanry, 'the devil a pinch of powder is there!' 'By Jove! to my mind, her dress is very _chic_. Regent Street couldn't turn out a better! Who the deuce is she?' asked another lounger. 'Oh! the daughter of Sir Piers Montgomerie,' replied some one whose information was vague; 'an old general officer--no end of money, and has refused no end of eligibles, and non-eligibles, alike.' 'Get me an introduction, won't you?' 'Well, perhaps--but her card has been full no doubt an hour ago.' 'Who is that swivel-eyed fellow that hangs about her?' 'Her intended, people say--don't like the fellow; he once played me a fishy trick about a horse.' 'I have certainly seen a face like that girl's before,' resumed the Lancer, eyeing Mary through his glass. 'Perhaps--but you haven't seen many like it,' said Dick Freeport. 'I am lucky enough to have booked her for two waltzes.' 'Great success, this regimental hop of yours!'