“Caskoden, did you tell him?” demanded Mary, evidently referring to the wager.

“He said not a word of it,” broke in Brandon, answering for me; “I should have been a dullard, indeed, not to have seen it myself after what you said about the loss of your ten crowns; so let us cry quits and begin again.”

Mary reluctantly struck her flag.

“Very well, I am willing,” she said laughingly; “but as to your boldness, I still insist upon that; I forgive you, however, this time.”  Then, half apologetically, “After all, it is not such a grievous charge to make.  I believe it never yet injured any man with women; they rather like it, I am afraid, however angry it makes them.  Don’t they, Jane?”

Jane, of course, “did not know,” so we all laughed, as usual, upon the slightest pretext, and Mary, that fair bundle of contradictions and quick transitions, stepped boldly up to Brandon, with her colors flying in her cheeks, ready for the first lesson in the new dance.

She was a little frightened at his arm around her waist, for the embrace was new to her—­the first touch of man—­and was shy and coy, though willing, being determined to learn the dance.  She was an apt pupil and soon glided softly and gracefully around the room with unfeigned delight; yielding to the new situation more easily as she became accustomed to it.

This dance was livelier exercise than La Galliard, and Mary could not talk much for lack of breath.  Brandon kept the conversation going, though, and she answered with glances, smiles, nods and monosyllables—­a very good vocabulary in its way, and a very good way, too, for that matter.

Once he said something to her, in a low voice, which brought a flush to her cheeks, and caused her to glance quickly up into his face.  By the time her answer came they were nearer us, and I heard her say:  “I am afraid I shall have to forgive you again if you are not careful.  Let me see an exhibition of that modesty you so much boast,” But a smile and a flash of the eyes went with the words, and took all the sting out of them.

After a time the dancers stopped, and Mary, with flushed face and sparkling eyes, sank into a chair, exclaiming:  “The new dance is delightful, Jane.  It is like flying; your partner helps you so.  But what would the king say?  And the queen?  She would simply swoon with horror.  It is delightful, though.”  Then, with more confusion in her manner than I had ever before seen:  “That is, it is delightful if one chooses her partner.”

This only made matters worse, and gave Brandon an opportunity.

“Dare I hope?” he asked, with a deferential bow.