“Those eyes of yours!”

Must she be second all her life?  Had she not a power and witchery of her own?  Might she not even distance Addie in the race?  “I’ve more brains than she has,” mused Lottie.

Her heart was beating fast as they came down stairs.  They had only arrived by a late train, which gave them just time to dress; and Mrs. Blake had rather exceeded the allowance, so that most of the guests had arrived and the first quadrille was nearly ended as they came in.  Lottie followed her mother and Addie as they glided through the crowd, and when they paused she stood shy and fierce, casting lowering glances around.

She heard their hostess say to some one, “Do let me find you a partner.”

A well-known voice replied, “Not this time, thank you:  I’m going to try to find one for myself;” and Percival stood before her, looking, to her girlish fancy, more of a hero than ever in the evening-dress which became him well.  The perfectly-fitting gloves, the flower in his coat, a dozen little things which she could not define, made her feel uncouth and anxious, fascinated and frightened, all at once.  Had he greeted her in the patronizing way in which he had talked to her of old, she would have been deeply wounded, but he asked her for the next dance more ceremoniously, she knew, than Horace would have asked Addie.  Still, she trembled as they moved off.  They had scarcely met since her note to him.  Suppose he alluded to it, asked after her black eye, and inquired whether she had derived any benefit from the beefsteak?  Nothing more natural, and yet if he did Lottie felt that she should hate him.  “I know I should do something dreadful,” she thought—­“scratch his face, and then burst out crying, most likely.  Oh, what would become of me?  I should be ruined for life!  I should have to shut myself up, never see any one again, and emigrate with Robin directly he was old enough.”

Percival did not know his danger, but he escaped it.  The fatal thoughts were in his mind while Lottie was planning her disgrace and exile, but he merely remarked that he liked the first waltz, and should they start at once or wait a moment till a couple or two dropped out?

“I don’t know whether I can waltz,” said Lottie doubtfully.

“Weren’t you over tortured with dancing-lessons?”

“Oh yes.  But I’ve never tried at a party.  Suppose we go bumping up against everybody, like that fat man and the little lady in pink—­the two who are just stopping?”

“I assure you,” said Percival gravely, “that I do not dance at all like that fat man.  And if you dance like the lady in pink, I shall be more surprised than I have words to say.  Now?”