“Never,” she responded as she played, and, strange to say, I was jealous because she agreed with me.  I was jealous because I feared it was Brandon’s beauty to which she referred.  That I thought would naturally appeal to her.  Had he been less handsome, I should perhaps have thought nothing of it, but I knew what my feelings were toward Mary, and I judged, or rather misjudged, Jane by myself.  I supposed she would think of Brandon as I could not help thinking of Mary.  Was anything in heaven or earth ever so beautiful as that royal creature, dancing there, daintily holding up her skirts with thumb and first finger, just far enough to show a distracting little foot and ankle, and make one wish he had been born a sheep rather than a sentient man who had to live without Mary Tudor?  Yet, strange as it may seem, I was really and wholly in love with Jane; in fact, I loved no one but Jane, and my feeling of intense admiration for Mary was but a part of man’s composite inconstancy.

A woman—­God bless her—­if she really loves a man, has no thought of any other; one at a time is all-sufficient; but a man may love one woman with the warmth of a simoon, and at the same time feel like a good healthy south wind toward a dozen others.  That is the difference between a man and a woman—­the difference between the good and the bad.  One average woman has enough goodness in her to supply an army of men.

Mary and Brandon went on dancing long after Jane was tired of playing.  It was plain to see that the girl was thoroughly enjoying it.  They kept up a running fire of small talk, and laughed, and smiled, and bowed, and courtesied, all in perfect time and grace.

It is more difficult than you may think, if you have never tried, to keep up a conversation and dance La Galliard, at the same time—­one is apt to balk the other—­but Brandon’s dancing was as easy to him as walking, and, although so small a matter, I could see it raised him vastly in the estimation of both girls.

“Do you play triumph?” I heard Mary ask in the midst of the dancing.

“Oh! yes,” replied Brandon, much to my delight, as the princess threw a mischievous, knowing glance over her shoulder to see if I had heard.  She at once saw I had, and this, of course, settled the wager.

“And,” continued Brandon, “I also play the new game, ’honor and ruff,’ which is more interesting than triumph.”

“Oh! do you?” cried Mary.  “That will more than compensate for the loss of my ten crowns.  Let us sit down at once; I have been wishing to learn, but no one here seems to know it.  In France, they say, it is the only game.  I suppose there is where you learned it?  Perhaps you know their new dances too!  I have heard they are delightful!”

“Yes, I know them,” replied Brandon.

“Why, you are a perfect treasure; teach me at once.  How now, Master of the Dance?  Here is your friend outdoing you in your own line.”