gallantry, the innocent gentleman, who had just come to town and knew not
the gossip thereof, bent and kissed her upon the cheek.

Audrey curtsied with a bright face to her old acquaintance of the valley
and the long road thence to the settled country. "I have been cared for,
sir," she said. "You see that I am happy."

She turned to Haward, and he drew her hand within his arm. "Ay, child," he
said. "We are keeping others of the company from their duty to his
Excellency. Besides, the minuet invites. I do not think I have heard music
so sweet before to-night. Your Excellency's most obedient servant!
Gentlemen, allow us to pass." The crowd opened before them, and they found
themselves in the centre of the room. Two couples were walking a minuet;
when they were joined by this dazzling third, the ladies bridled, bit
their lips, and shot Parthian glances.

It was very fortunate, thought Audrey, that the Widow Constance had once,
long ago, taught her to dance, and that, when they were sent to gather
nuts or myrtle berries or fagots in the woods, she and Barbara were used
to taking hands beneath the trees and moving with the glancing sunbeams
and the nodding saplings and the swaying grapevine trailers. She that had
danced to the wind in the pine tops could move with ease to the music of
this night. And since it was so that with a sore and frightened and
breaking heart one could yet, in some strange way, become quite another
person,--any person that one chose to be,--these cruel folk should not
laugh at her again! They had not laughed since, before the Governor
yonder, she had suddenly made believe that she was a carefree, great lady.
Well, she would make believe to them still.

Her eyes were as brilliant as Haward's that shone with fever; a smile