“Please don’t.”

“I thought you liked that sort of thing.”

“Not from you, it doesn’t sound natural, and I like your old bluntness better.”

“I’m glad of it,” he answered, with a look of relief, then buttoned her gloves for her, and asked if his tie was straight, just as he used to do when they went to parties together at home.

The company assembled in the long salle a manger, that evening, was such as one sees nowhere but on the Continent.  The hospitable Americans had invited every acquaintance they had in Nice, and having no prejudice against titles, secured a few to add luster to their Christmas ball.

A Russian prince condescended to sit in a corner for an hour and talk with a massive lady, dressed like Hamlet’s mother in black velvet with a pearl bridle under her chin.  A Polish count, aged eighteen, devoted himself to the ladies, who pronounced him, ‘a fascinating dear’, and a German Serene Something, having come to supper alone, roamed vaguely about, seeking what he might devour.  Baron Rothschild’s private secretary, a large-nosed Jew in tight boots, affably beamed upon the world, as if his master’s name crowned him with a golden halo.  A stout Frenchman, who knew the Emperor, came to indulge his mania for dancing, and Lady de Jones, a British matron, adorned the scene with her little family of eight.  Of course, there were many light-footed, shrill-voiced American girls, handsome, lifeless-looking English ditto, and a few plain but piquante French demoiselles, likewise the usual set of traveling young gentlemen who disported themselves gaily, while mammas of all nations lined the walls and smiled upon them benignly when they danced with their daughters.

Any young girl can imagine Amy’s state of mind when she ‘took the stage’ that night, leaning on Laurie’s arm.  She knew she looked well, she loved to dance, she felt that her foot was on her native heath in a ballroom, and enjoyed the delightful sense of power which comes when young girls first discover the new and lovely kingdom they are born to rule by virtue of beauty, youth, and womanhood.  She did pity the Davis girls, who were awkward, plain, and destitute of escort, except a grim papa and three grimmer maiden aunts, and she bowed to them in her friendliest manner as she passed, which was good of her, as it permitted them to see her dress, and burn with curiosity to know who her distinguished-looking friend might be.  With the first burst of the band, Amy’s color rose, her eyes began to sparkle, and her feet to tap the floor impatiently, for she danced well and wanted Laurie to know it.  Therefore the shock she received can better be imagined than described, when he said in a perfectly tranquil tone, “Do you care to dance?”

“One usually does at a ball.”

Her amazed look and quick answer caused Laurie to repair his error as fast as possible.

“I meant the first dance.  May I have the honor?”