"
"You are a spoiled boy, you want too much."
"I want you, my enchantress."
"But you can't have me, Sir Tilton, I belong to the heir of the house
for the last dance," she said, wilfully misconstruing his meaning, so
gaining time, lost to him.
"You are cruel, you gave up my dance for Trevalyon; you won't give up
De Hauteville's for me."
"Eau Clair made me promise faithfully," and with pretty persuasiveness
had her way to the ball-room. "Drop all sentiment, Sir Tilton, I like
you best, your own gay care for naught self; see," she added, kindly
as they neared the music and revellers, "see the gay butterflies are
as _chic_ (even if their wings have lost some of their bloom); the
scent of the rose as sweet as at the first dance; be your own gay
rollicking self once more."
"I cannot! for my star of the night I love you; don't start, it is no
new story to you that a man's heart lies crushed at your feet. Since
it was my fate to meet you, your face is ever before me. I followed
you here, running away from Haughton Hall. I have dreaded Trevalyon as
a rival, as well as others, but he in especial.
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