‘Quite sure, sir,’ she decisively answered. At first nobody would have noticed in that pretty young face any sign of decision; yet it was discoverable. The mouth, though soft, was firm in line; the eyebrows were distinct, and extended near to each other. ‘I have thought of it all day,’ she continued, sadly. ‘Still, sir, if you are sorry you offered me anything, I can let you off.’ ‘Sorry?—Certainly not, Margery,’ be said, rather nettled. ‘I’ll show you that whatever hopes I have raised in your breast I am honourable enough to gratify. If it lies in my power,’ he added with sudden firmness, ‘you _shall_ go to the Yeomanry Ball. In what building is it to be held?’ ‘In the Assembly Rooms.’ ‘And would you be likely to be recognized there? Do you know many people?’ ‘Not many, sir. None, I may say. I know nobody who goes to balls.’ ‘Ah, well; you must go, since you wish it; and if there is no other way of getting over the difficulty of having nobody to take you, I’ll take you myself. Would you like me to do so? I can dance.’ ‘O, yes, sir; I know that, and I thought you might offer to do it. But would you bring me back again?’ ‘Of course I’ll bring you back. But, by-the-bye, can _you_ dance?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘What?’ ‘Reels, and jigs, and country-dances like the New-Rigged-Ship, and Follow-my-Lover, and Haste-to-the-Wedding, and the College Hornpipe, and the Favourite Quickstep, and Captain White’s dance.’ ‘A very good list—a very good! but unluckily I fear they don’t dance any of those now. But if you have the instinct we may soon cure your ignorance. Let me see you dance a moment.’ She stood out into the garden-path, the stile being still between them, and seizing a side of her skirt with each hand, performed the movements which are even yet far from uncommon in the dances of the villagers of merry England. But her motions, though graceful, were not precisely those which appear in the figures of a modern ball-room. ‘Well, my good friend, it is a very pretty sight,’ he said, warming up to the proceedings. ‘But you dance too well—you dance all over your person—and that’s too thorough a way for the present day. I should say it was exactly how they danced in the time of your poet Chaucer; but as people don’t dance like it now, we must consider. First I must inquire more about this ball, and then I must see you again.’ ‘If it is a great trouble to you, sir, I—’ ‘O no, no. I will think it over. So far so good.’ The Baron mentioned an evening and an hour when he would be passing that way again; then mounted his horse and rode away. On the next occasion, which was just when the sun was changing places with the moon as an illuminator of Silverthorn Dairy, she found him at the spot before her, and unencumbered by a horse. The melancholy that had so weighed him down at their first interview, and had been perceptible at their second, had quite disappeared. He pressed her right hand between both his own across the stile.