Phyllida was astonished at the coincidence and not sure whether, after all, Mr. Chalkley had not employed Mr. Lovely's offices on his behalf. However, as she had little enough envy in her and was romantically attached to Mr. Amor, she could scarcely refuse to help her dear Morton into the arms of an expectant lover, and if Mr. Lovely had no real inclination to dance with her, that was no great matter, since he was a vastly agreeable young gentleman and would pass the time very pleasantly in the absence of another. Mr. Chalkley, when summoned by Charles, was extremely indignant and swore he was not come to dance with any jade in the room. "Pshaw," replied his friend, "you can't stand there gaping all the evening." "Why don't you make Blewforth dance with the hussy?" "Odds my life, Tom, why won't you tread a minuet with a handsome young woman?" "You're too devilish fond of arranging matters for other people to suit your own whims. I'll be hanged if I dance a step to-night!" But all the other young gentlemen vowed so earnestly that Mr. Chalkley was a surly fellow, that he gave way at last and suffered himself to be dragged to the feet of attractive Miss Sukey Morton, whose black eyes flashed very brightly at the sight of Mr. Chalkley's red coat. Charles, having disposed her friend, offered his hand to Phyllida and soon they were stepping the minuet with infinite grace, admired by every one who saw them. For her the room sank into unreality and she lived in a rainbow whose colours moved and changed to the slow dignity of far-heard Pizzicato. The melody to which these marionettes were dancing possessed a strange quality. It was emotion in quintessence, without passion, without abandon. Whatever it had of definite character lay in the half bashful invitation to dance, as if some ghostly puppet master, pale and stately, were beckoning to his performers. As the opening bars of the minuet were repeated at the close only to die away in a poignant farewell, Phyllida felt for the first time, in the swoon of her last courtesy, that she was a doll whose gestures served to amuse a genteel but unearthly audience of monocled Gods. Actually it was a mere momentary dizziness, a sudden loss of volition on which Charles hung a score of fancies. "You are feeling faint?" he inquired. "No, no." "The heat is overpowering. Shall we sit for a while in an alcove, or shall we saunter in Curtain Garden?" They passed through the crowded room and down a cool passage into a Baroc cloister where stone Satyrs took the place of Angels, and the Cherubim were not easily to be distinguished from Loves. The young moon was setting behind Curtain Hill larger and more golden than before. The cloister was hung with amber lights and held innumerable whispers. Somewhere close at hand was a sound of running water. "You are fond of dancing, madam?" "Oh, sir, 'tis a very delicate motion truly." "I fear you thought I was presumptuous in offering my hand for the minuet."