was a pretty sight! I had to admire it; and in watching the play of light and colour I forgot my private worries until I saw Bertie bowing before me.
The marquise had just honoured her own butler. The marquis was offering his arm to the housekeeper; the Duc de Divonne had led out Miss Nelson's bilious maid, appalling in apple-green: Miss Nelson was returning the compliment by giving her hand to his valet: why should not this young gentleman dance with his step-mother-in-law's maid?
There seemed no reason why not, except the maid's disinclination; and sudden side-slip of the brain caused by the glassy impudence in Mr. Stokes's eye so disturbed my equilibrium that I forgot Jack's offer. He did not forget, however—it would hardly have been Jack, if he had—but stepped forward to claim me as I began to stammer some excuse.
"Oh, come, that isn't playin' the game," said Bertie. "We 're all dancin' with servants this turn. Go ask a lady, Dane."
"I have asked a lady, and she has promised to dance with me," said Jack. "Miss d'Angely ⸺"
"Oh, that 's the lady's name, is it? I 'm glad to know," mumbled Bertie, as Jack whisked me away from under his nose.
"By Jove, I oughtn't to have let that out, ought I?" said Jack, remorseful. "The less he knows about you, the better; and as Lady Turnour has no idea of pronunciation, if it had n't been for my stupidity ⸺"
"Don't call it that," I stopped him, as we began to dance. "It does n't matter a bit—unless it should occur to the
