severe cut over my left elbow, which I have indeed been using as an active weapon of offence and defence, as is the wont of women-kind in a ball-room skirmish.
"Poor little soul!" says Paul's voice beside me, and looking up with eyes that are filled partly with anger, partly with tears, I see that his face is dark with wrath, and that his glance at Lord St. John is of no very friendly character.
"You should have taken better care of Miss Adair," he says, sternly. "Do you see how you have hurt her?"
Poor little Lord St. John! He has no idea but that he has distinguished himself in a very spirited and successful manner, and is mopping his forehead preparatory to doing it all over again.
"Is she tired?" he asks, with genuine astonishment. "And we got on so well, too!"
"She is too tired to dance the rest of this galop," says Paul, impatiently. "Miss Lister is not dancing, I see. Why do you not ask her?"
Lord St. John is essentially docile, he always does as he is bid, so he fetches the young lady, and starts off again with much zeal, if little discretion.
"I should like to thrash that little fool," says Paul, looking at my scratched arm, and making a sudden movement towards it that he as quickly checks. "Dairymaids and cooks should be his partners, not delicate girls like you."
"I have one mercy to be thankful for," I say, sitting up and putting my hand to my head to see if my poppies still bloom there," he did not let me down!"
"Miss Lister will not be so fortunate then; for if they don't go down before they are five minutes older I am much mistaken. Look at them now!"
I do look. Lord St. John and his unhappy partner are taking a header straight down through the room; and another couple
