He is looking at me, with an infinite amusement, and also commendation, in his eyes.

“Why, Nancy,” he says, smiling—­“I had no idea that you were so vain!”

“No,” reply I, bubbling over again into a shamefaced yet delighted laughter—­“no more had I!  But then I had no idea that I was so pretty, either.”

My elation remains undiminished when I go down-stairs.  Yes, even when I compare myself with Mrs. Huntley, for, for once, I have beaten her!  I really think that there can be no two opinions about it! indeed, I have the greatest difficulty in refraining from asking everybody whether there can.

She is not in powder.  Her hair, in its present color, is hardly dark enough to suit the high comb, and black lace mantilla which she has draped about her head, and the red rose in her hair is hardly redder than the catarrh has made her eyelids.  A cold always comes on more heavily at night; and no one can deny that her whole appearance is stuffy and choky, and that she speaks through her nose.

As for me, I am not sure that I do not beat even Barbara.  At least, the idea has struck me; and, when she herself suggests, and with hearty satisfaction, and elation not inferior to my own, insists upon it, I do not think it necessary to contradict her.

None of the three young men have as yet made their appearance; and the guests are beginning quickly to arrive.  All the neighbors—­all the friends who are staying with the neighbors to shoot their partridges—­ some soldiers, some odds and ends, bushels of girls—­there always are bushels of girls somehow; here they come, smiling, settling their ties, giving their skirts furtive kicks behind, as their different sex and costume bid them.

All the duties of reception fall upon the poor old gentleman, and drive him to futile wrath, and to sending off many loud and desperate messages to his truant heir.  However, to do him justice, the poor old soul is hospitality itself, and treats his guests, not only to the best food, drink, and fiddling in his power, but also to all his primest anecdotes.  No less than three times in the course of the evening do I hear him go through that remarkable tale of the doctor at Norwich, of the age of seventy-eight, and the four fine children.

To my immense delight, hardly anybody recognizes me.  Many people look hard—­really very hard—­at me, and I try to appear modestly unconscious.

We are all in the dancing-room.  The sharp fiddles are already beginning to squeak out a gay galop, and I am tapping impatient time with my foot to that brisk, emphasized music which has always seemed to Barbara and me exhilarating past the power of words to express.

I think that Roger perceives my eagerness, for he brings up a, to me, strange soldier, who makes his bow, and invites me.

I comply, with contained rapture, and off we fly.  For I have pressingly consulted Roger as to whether I may, with safety to my complexion, take a turn or two, and he has replied strongly in the affirmative.  He has, indeed, maintained that I may dance all night without seeing my rosy cheeks dissolve, but I know better.