Frances had finished a dance with a Robin Hood--the slender one in billiard-cloth green--there being no fewer than four of them, variously rounded, diversely clad, when the Scot approached her where she stood with her gallant near the musicians' brake of palms. A flask of wine, a book of verse--and Thou Beside me singing in the wilderness-- said the tall Highlandman, bending over her shoulder, his words low in her ear. "Only I could be happy without the wine," he added, as she faced him in quick surprise. "Your penetration deserves a reward--you are the first to guess it," said she. "Three dances, no less," said he, like a usurer demanding his toll. He offered his arm, and straightway bore her off from the astonished Robin Hood, who stood staring after them, believing, perhaps, that he was the victim of some prearranged plan. The spirit of his free ancestors seemed to be in the lithe, tall Highlander's feet. There was no dancer equal to him in that room. A thistle on the wind was not lighter, nor a wheeling swallow more graceful in its flight. Many others stopped their dancing to watch that pair; whisperings ran round like electrical conjectures. Nola steered Major King near the whirling couple, and even tried to maneuver a collision, which failed. "Who is that dancing with Frances Landcraft?" she breathed in the major's ear. "I didn't know it was Miss Landcraft," he replied, although he knew it very well, and resolved to find out who the Scotsman was, speedily and completely. "My enchanted hour will soon pass," said the Scot, when that dance was done, "and I have been looking the world over for you." "Dancing all the way?" she asked him lightly. "Far from it," he answered, his voice still muffled and low. They were standing withdrawn a little from the press in the room after their second dance, when Major King came by. The major was a cavalier in drooping hat, with white satin cape, and sword by his side, and well enough known to all his friends in spite of the little spat of mustache and beard. As the major passed he jostled the Scot with his shoulder with a rudeness openly intentional. The major turned, and spoke an apology. Frances felt the Highlander's muscles swell suddenly where her hand lay on his arm, but whatever had sprung into his mind he repressed, and acknowledged the major's apology with a lofty nod. The music for another dance was beginning, and couples were whirling out upon the floor. "I don't care to dance again just now, delightfully as you carry a clumsy one like me through--" "A self-disparagement, even, can't stand unchallenged," he interrupted. "Mr. Macdonald," she whispered, "your wig is awry." They were near the door opening to the illumined garden, with its late roses, now at their best, and hydrangea clumps plumed in foggy bloom. They stepped out of the swirl of the dance like particles thrown from a wheel, not missed that moment even by those interested in keeping them in sight.