Margaret Maliphant

								

my companion could not see it. I ran quickly down the slope of grass
onto the gravel walk. It was dreadful, dreadful that I should have
listened to these words which were meant for her ear alone.
"Come," I called to the lad, who loitered behind; "come, it's cold, we
must go in."
He followed me slowly.
"I believe there were a man and a girl spooning behind that wall," he
said, with a grin.
How I hated him! I have never spoken to him from that day to this, and
yet, was it his fault?
We went back into the ball-room. The waltz was over. I had a partner
for the last one, but I did not care to dance it. I was watching for
Joyce, and when I saw her presently floating round with her hand on
Captain Forrester's arm, I thought I was quite happy.
But mother was not happy. She had thought that Joyce would dance the
last dance with Squire Broderick. She said that father was tired, and
that she wanted to go. And indeed his face looked very weary, and his
heavy lips heavier than ever.
No doubt we were all tired, for the squire too had lost the cheerful
look that he had worn all through the evening.
I sat and waited for Joyce, and I wondered to myself whether any one
would ever make love to me with his heart in his voice.

CHAPTER XI.

Time dragged heavily on my hands after the excitement of the squire's
ball was over. It was not only that I had to go back to the routine
of every-day life--for there was still the concert to look forward
to, which gave us plenty of interest--but it was that during a whole
fortnight I had been looking for news from Joyce, and that Joyce had
said never a word. No; she had rather been more silent than usual,
constrained and unlike her own serene and happy self; and I had been
frightened, frightened at sight of the torrent that I had let loose,
and doubtful whether, in spite of all his democratic theories, this
handsome, courtly, chivalrous knight, who was my embodiment of romance,
was really a fit mate for the humble damsel nurtured in the quiet shade.
Well, anyhow the torrent rolled on, whether it was really I who had
set it free or not, and I was forced to stand aside and watch its
course without more ado.
There had been plenty to watch. The village concert had come and gone;
it had taken place a week after the squire's ball. Captain Forrester
had worked us very hard for it towards the end. We had had practisings
every afternoon, and I had rehearsed my solos indefatigably; but, save
for singing in the glees and playing an accompaniment now and then,
Joyce had taken no active part in the musical performance, and I had
fancied that she had kept out of the way a great deal more than she
need have done.
I could not understand her at all. She would not give Frank the ghost
of a chance of saying a word to her alone; she shunned him as she
shunned me.
On the night of the concert he was, of course, too much excited until
the performance was over, to remember even Joyce at first; for he was