“I can give you one if I put off the Count.  He dances devinely, but he will excuse me, as you are an old friend,” said Amy, hoping that the name would have a good effect, and show Laurie that she was not to be trifled with.

“Nice little boy, but rather a short Pole to support . . .

    A daughter of the gods,
    Devinely tall, and most devinely fair,”

was all the satisfaction she got, however.

The set in which they found themselves was composed of English, and Amy was compelled to walk decorously through a cotillion, feeling all the while as if she could dance the tarantella with relish.  Laurie resigned her to the ’nice little boy’, and went to do his duty to Flo, without securing Amy for the joys to come, which reprehensible want of forethought was properly punished, for she immediately engaged herself till supper, meaning to relent if he then gave any signs penitence.  She showed him her ball book with demure satisfaction when he strolled instead of rushed up to claim her for the next, a glorious polka redowa.  But his polite regrets didn’t impose upon her, and when she galloped away with the Count, she saw Laurie sit down by her aunt with an actual expression of relief.

That was unpardonable, and Amy took no more notice of him for a long while, except a word now and then when she came to her chaperon between the dances for a necessary pin or a moment’s rest.  Her anger had a good effect, however, for she hid it under a smiling face, and seemed unusually blithe and brilliant.  Laurie’s eyes followed her with pleasure, for she neither romped nor sauntered, but danced with spirit and grace, making the delightsome pastime what it should be.  He very naturally fell to studying her from this new point of view, and before the evening was half over, had decided that ‘little Amy was going to make a very charming woman’.

It was a lively scene, for soon the spirit of the social season took possession of everyone, and Christmas merriment made all faces shine, hearts happy, and heels light.  The musicians fiddled, tooted, and banged as if they enjoyed it, everybody danced who could, and those who couldn’t admired their neighbors with uncommon warmth.  The air was dark with Davises, and many Joneses gamboled like a flock of young giraffes.  The golden secretary darted through the room like a meteor with a dashing frenchwoman who carpeted the floor with her pink satin train.  The serene Teuton found the supper-table and was happy, eating steadily through the bill of fare, and dismayed the garcons by the ravages he committed.  But the Emperor’s friend covered himself with glory, for he danced everything, whether he knew it or not, and introduced impromptu pirouettes when the figures bewildered him.  The boyish abandon of that stout man was charming to behold, for though he ‘carried weight’, he danced like an India-rubber ball.  He ran, he flew, he pranced, his face glowed, his bald head shown, his coattails waved wildly, his pumps actually twinkled in the air, and when the music stopped, he wiped the drops from his brow, and beamed upon his fellow men like a French Pickwick without glasses.