“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 hadn’t been for my stupidity—­”

“Don’t call it that,” I stopped him, as we began to dance.  “It doesn’t matter a bit—­unless it should occur to the Duchesse de Melun to ask him questions about me.  And I’d rather not think about that possibility, or anything else disagreeable, to spoil this heavenly waltz.”

“You can dance a little, can’t you?” said Jack, in a tone and with a look that made the words better than any compliment any other man had ever paid me on my dancing, though I’d been likened to feathers, and vine-tendrils, and various poetically airy things.

“You aren’t so bad yourself, brother,” I retorted, in the same tone.  “Our steps suit, don’t they?”

He muttered something, which sounded like “Just a little better than anything else on earth, that’s all”; but of course it couldn’t really have been what my ears tried to make my vanity believe.

When we stopped—­which we didn’t do while there was music to go on with—­I was conscious that people were looking at us, and nobody with more interest than the Duchesse de Melun.  I glanced hastily away before my eye had quite caught hers; but no female thing needs to give a whole eye to what is going on around her.  I knew, although my back was soon turned in her direction, that the Duchesse de Melun was talking to Lady Turnour, and I guessed the subject of the conversation.  Thank goodness, my mistress’s mind had never compassed more than a misleading “Elise,” and thank goodness, also, many of the great folk were preparing to leave us humble ones to ourselves, now that their condescension had been proved in the first dance.  Would the duchess go?  Yes—­oh joy!—­she gets up from her seat.  She moves toward the door.  Lady Turnour has risen too, but sits down again, lured by the proximity of a princess.  All will be well, perhaps!  The duchess mayn’t think of catechizing Bertie, now that my mistress has put her off the track.  He, with several other young men, evidently means to stop and see the fun out.  If only he would sit still, now, beside the marquise!  But no.  Miss Nelson and the Duc de Divonne are going out together.  Bertie must needs jump up and dash across the room for a word with the girl.  Discouraged by some laughing answer flung over her shoulder, he almost bumps against the duchess.  Horror!  She speaks to him quite eagerly.  She puts a question.  He replies.  She bends her head near to him.  They walk slowly out of the room, talking, talking.  All is up with Lys d’Angely!  The next thing that Meddlesome Matty of a duchess will do, is to wire Cousin Catherine Milvaine.  Crash! thunder—­lightning—­hail!—­Monsieur Charretier on my track again.