Her eye fell on him.  She gave a little start, but passed on without a word.  The carpets had been taken up, and the dancing began.

Mrs. Bazalgette arranged that Lucy and David should play pianoforte and violin until some lady could be found to take her part.

I incline to think Mrs. Bazalgette, spiteful as mortified vanity is apt to be, did not know the depth of anguish her subtle vengeance inflicted on David Dodd.

He was pale and stern with the bitter struggle for composure.  He ground his teeth, fixed his eyes on the music-book, and plowed the merry tunes as the fainting ox plows the furrow.  He dared not look at Lucy, nor did he speak to her more than was necessary for what they were doing, nor she to him.  She was vexed with him for subjecting himself and her to unnecessary pain, and in the eye of society—­her divinity.

Another unhappy one was Mr. Fountain.  He sat disconsolate on a seat all alone.  Mrs. Bazalgette fluttered about like a butterfly, and sparkled like a Chinese firework.

Two young ladies, sisters, went to the piano to give Miss Fountain an opportunity of dancing.  She danced quadrilles with four or five gentlemen, including her special admirers.  She declined to waltz:  “I have a little headache; nothing to speak of.”

She then sat down to the piano again.  “I can play alone, Mr. Dodd; you have not danced at all.”

“I am not in the humor.”

“Very well.”

This time they played some of the tunes they had rehearsed together that happy evening, and David’s lip quivered.

Lucy eyed him unobserved.

“Was this wise—­to subject yourself to this?”

“I must obey orders, whatever it costs me—­’ri tum ti tum ti tum ti tum.’”

“Who ordered you to neglect my advice?—­’ri tum tum tum.’”

"You did—­’ri tum ti tum tiddy iddy.’”

A look of silent disdain:  “Ri tum, ti tum, tiddy iddy.” (Ah! perdona for relating things as they happen, and not as your grand writers pretend they happen.)

Between the quadrilles she asked an explanation.

“Your aunt met me with my bag in my hand, and told me you wanted me to play to the company.”

When he said this, David heard a sound like the click of a trigger.  He looked up; it was Lucy clinching her teeth convulsively.  But time was up:  the woman of the world must go on like the prizefighter.  The couples were waiting.

“Ri tum ti tum ti tum ti tum tiddy iddy.”  For all that, she did not finish the tune.  In the middle of it she said to David, “’Ri tum ti tum—­’ can you get through this without me?—­’ri tum.’”

“If I can get through life without you, I can surely get through this twaddle:  ‘ri tum ti tum ti tum ti tum tiddy iddy.’” Lucy started from her seat, leaving David plowing solo.  She started from her seat and stood a moment, looking like an angel stung by vipers.  Her eye went all round the room in one moment in search of some one to blight.  It surprised Mr. Hardie and Mrs. Bazalgette sitting together and casting ironical glances pianoward:  “So she has been betraying to Mr. Hardie the secret she gained by listening,” thought Lucy.  The pair were probably enjoying David’s mortification, his misery.