Thus thinking and watching, Mr. Rollo saw two strange things take place.  First came this: 

A new figure was called, and the partners were to be sorted by means of long streamers of different-coloured ribbands.  Wych Hazel, having already received hers, a green, stood drawing it through her fingers and chatting with Josephine Powder, whose ribband was blue.  Suddenly Miss Kennedy caught away the blue ribband and began to compare its length with that of her own; measuring and re-measuring, tangling the long ends up together; until as the gentlemen came up to match colours and claim their partners, Wych Hazel hurriedly put the green streamer in Josephine’s hand, and went off with Captain Lancaster.  The green and blue were such convertible colours in the gaslight that no one took any notice.  But Rollo saw that Wych Hazel drew a long breath as she moved away, and looked down, and did not say much for several minutes.  That figure passed off with nothing unusual.

Then followed another, during which the couples were arranged in a sort of haphazard way; the ladies and gentlemen drawing up in two long opposite lines, each then to take his vis-a-vis.  But where a lady was in great demand, the gentleman not strictly opposite would sometimes press down and forward, trying to catch her eye, and prove himself her partner by mere right of possession.  The line of men stood with their backs towards Mr. Rollo, so that he did not at first see who it was that started forward so eagerly, taking a fair diagonal towards Miss Kennedy.  But he saw her change colour, with a sort of frightened look, and then—­most unlike her usual shy bearing,—­saw her turn the other way, and herself take a diagonal towards what proved in this instance to be Mr. May.  With a great flush of crimson at first, and then growing and remaining very pale, and dancing very languidly.  And then, at the foot of the room, her eyes met those of her young guardian,—­which about finished up the evening.  For twice that night Wych Hazel had been within a hair’s breadth of having her hand taken by the very man from whose presence she had escaped that night in July.  To get rid of him she had put herself off on somebody else, and Mr. Rollo had seen it all!

‘Put Molly Seaton in my place, Josephine,’ she whispered, ’Mr. May is going to excuse me.’

But they crowded round her and insisted upon ‘just one more.’  She should not finish this figure if she disliked it,—­they would stop it short:  anything to keep Miss Kennedy on the floor!  Would she dance ‘Le Verre de Vin’?

’Never!’—­with sudden energy.

‘My gracious me!—­how spiteful we are!’ said Kitty Fisher. ’You wouldn’t have to drink it.  Well, then, “La Poursuite"?’

Miss Kennedy hated ‘La Poursuite.’

‘And—­for Miss Kennedy—­it is such breathless work,’ said Mr. Kingsland.

‘And—­for Mr. Kingsland—­etcetera, etcetera—­’ said Kitty mockingly.  ’Stephen, when there is an opportunity for remarks, I’ll let you know.  “La Poursuite” is just the thing.  You see, Hazel,’ she whispered, ’the Viking can rush in and reclaim his prize, and reconciliations take place in the final tour.’