Cajolements did not avail that evening to induce Mr. Rollo to dance; and they were tried.  He was in what Wych Hazel might have called a very Spanish mood.  Not to her; indeed he never approached her nor sought to interrupt the pretensions of those who crowded round her, courting her favour and worshipping her pleasure, and craving to be made ministers of the same.  She was in a throng, and he did not try to penetrate it.  Why he stayed so long was a mystery; for what is a German if you do not dance?  He was not a mere idle spectator, nor idle at all, it is true; he made himself busy enough, taking elderly ladies to supper and serving younger ones with beef-tea; but those are not engrossing amusements.  Mme. Lasalle declared he was very useful; and watched to see what it meant; but beyond that he could not be seen to look at anybody in particular, she could resolve herself of nothing.  Certainly he took leave a little before Wych Hazel left the room; they were not together, the lady was sure.

CHAPTER XXVI.

IN THE ROCKAWAY.

When, however, a little later, that young lady came forth to her carriage, attended as usual by a retinue of servitors, a single figure was standing by her carriage door.  He stood aside to let the devotees put Wych Hazel into the little rockaway which was her sole present equipage; but when the last words had been said and the last man stepped back, Rollo stood at the door before Dingee had time to shut it.

‘Will you give me a seat as far as Mr. Falkirk’s?’ he said, looking in.

Now when you have not seen a person for six weeks or so, a request for a seat in your carriage is not generally the opening remark, and Wych Hazel paused in a sort of astonishment.  Then another thing made her hesitate.

‘If you will answer it to Mr. Falkirk,’ she said.  ’You know I am forbidden to give any one a seat in my carriage.  Have you a special permit, Mr. Rollo?’

‘I never ask for what I cannot have,’ he said, jumping in.  And then he offered her his hand.  ‘How do you do?’

’Very well.  I should think that must make you an adept in Prim’s beloved art of waiting,’ said Wych Haze.

’If the lesson must be learnt, I would rather wait before asking.  After that, I believe I do not know how to practise it.  How do you feel about waiting for your horses?’

’Feeling is dead, and impatience is all tired out with hard work and want of sympathy.  So it is pretty quiet just now.’

‘Want of sympathy?’ he said, inquiringly.

’Yes.  I used to fume about it a little, but Mr. Falkirk only said “My dear,” and a few other things of a cooing nature.’

‘I believe I have brought you what you will like.’

‘O, have you?’ said the girl, with her musical intonations, and a degree of eagerness which spoke impatience in fair condition.  ’You are very good to take so much trouble, Mr. Rollo!  But I am more glad than you can imagine.’