Waving her great plumy feather fan to and fro, Sibyl looked across it at her companion, and answered in a little sweetly impertinent tone,—­

“But I never reflect.”

“So I should judge, madam,” retorted the youth, wrathfully; “but perhaps,” he went on, “if Miss Merridew will deign to bestow a glance upon this”—­and the young fellow pulled from his pocket a gold-mounted card and letter case, out of which he took a tablet upon which was written:  “Met Miss Sibyl Merridew this morning on the mall.  She promised to dance the last minuet with me to-morrow night.  Mem.  Send roses if they are to be had in the town!”

Sibyl blushed as she read this.  Then lifting the flowers—­Sir Harry’s roses—­to her face for a moment, she dropped a demure courtesy and said, with a gleam of fun in her eyes,—­

“If Sir Harry finds that it is necessary for him to recall his friends and engagements by memorandum notes, he certainly cannot expect an untutored provincial maid, who carries no such orderly appliance about with her, to charge her mind unaided.”

“An untutored provincial maid!” exclaimed Sir Harry, all his wrath extinguished by her pretty recognition of his flowers and his admiration of her ready wit,—­“an untutored provincial maid!  By my faith, Miss Sibyl, you’d put to shame many a court dame.  But, hark, what’s that?  As I live, the musicians are tuning up for the minuet.”  And smilingly he held out his hand to her.

[Illustration:  A very pretty pair]

“A very pretty pair,” said more than one of the assembled company, as the two took their places in the beautifully decorated ball-room; and as the dance progressed, Mr. Jeffrey Merridew, watching his niece from his post of observation, said to himself with, a congratulatory smile,—­

“Where now are Miss Sibyl’s fine rebel principles?  I scarcely think they would stand a test.”

Almost at that very moment Sir Harry, boy as he was, spite of his one-and-twenty years, was giving vent to a little boastful talk about “our army” and “those undisciplined rebels who would never stand the test against a full regiment of regulars.”

“Why,” Sir Harry declared at length, led on by Sibyl’s air of great interest, “we have positive information that their troops at Cambridge have neither arms nor ammunition to carry on a defence, and they are in a sorry condition every way; it is impossible for them to resist us successfully.  We shall literally sweep them off the face of the earth if they attempt it.”

“And you—­the King’s troops?” inquired Sibyl.

“We—­well, we have been a little straitened ourselves for the munitions of war,” replied the young aide-de-camp, “but by to-morrow night a vessel will arrive for us that will relieve all such necessities.  Ah,” with a gay smile, “what would not these rebels give to get possession of this information, and put their cruisers on the alert to capture such a prize!”