They came soon enough, alack!  The season Dorothy was fourteen, we had a ball at the Hall the last day of the year.  When she was that age she had near arrived at her growth, and was full as tall as many young ladies of twenty.  I had cantered with her that morning from Wilmot House to Mr. Lloyd’s, and thence to Carvel Hall, where she was to stay to dinner.  The sun was shining warmly, and after young Harvey had taken our horses we strayed through the house, where the servants were busy decorating, and out into my grandfather’s old English flower garden, and took the seat by the sundial.  I remember that it gave no shadow.  We sat silent for a while, Dorothy toying with old Knipe, lying at our feet, and humming gayly the burden of a minuet.  She had been flighty on the ride, with scarce a word to say to me, for the prospect of the dance had gone to her head.

“Have you a new suit to wear to-night, to see the New Year in, Master Sober?” she asked presently, looking up.  “I am to wear a brocade that came out this autumn from London, and papa says I look like a duchess when I have my grandmother’s pearls.”

“Always the ball!” cried I, slapping my boots in a temper.  “Is it, then, such a matter of importance?  I am sure you have danced before—­at my birthdays in Marlboro’ Street and at your own, and Will Fotheringay’s, and I know not how many others.”

“Of course,” replies Dolly, sweetly; “but never with a real man.  Boys like you and Will and the Lloyds do not count.  Dr. Courtenay is at Wilmot House, and is coming to-night; and he has asked me out.  Think of it, Richard!  Dr. Courtenay!”

“A plague upon him!  He is a fop!”

“A fop!” exclaimed Dolly, her humour bettering as mine went down.  “Oh, no; you are jealous.  He is more sought after than any gentleman at the assemblies, and Miss Dulany vows his steps are ravishing.  There’s for you, my lad!  He may not be able to keep pace with you in the chase, but he has writ the most delicate verses ever printed in Maryland, and no other man in the colony can turn a compliment with his grace.  Shall I tell you more?  He sat with me for over an hour last night, until mamma sent me off to bed, and was very angry at you because I had engaged to ride with you to-day.”

“And I suppose you wish you had stayed with him,” I flung back, hotly.  “He had spun you a score of fine speeches and a hundred empty compliments by now.”

“He had been better company than you, sir,” she laughed provokingly.  “I never heard you turn a compliment in your life, and you are now seventeen.  What headway do you expect to make at the assemblies?”

“None,” I answered, rather sadly than otherwise.  For she had touched me upon a sore spot.  “But if I cannot win a woman save by compliments,” I added, flaring up, “then may I pay a bachelor’s tax!”

My lady drew her whip across my knee.

“You must tell us we are beautiful, Richard,” said she, in another tone.