her in her belief that he wanted to please Margaret to the uttermost.
Often Priscilla recalled, with keener appreciation, John Boswell's
description of Anton Farwell's conception of friendship. In like manner
Margaret Moffatt claimed for her companion all that justly belonged to
herself. Dispassionately, vicariously, Priscilla learned to know and
admire the man who undoubtedly in time would win her one friend. It was
all beautiful and natural, and in the lovely detachment it grew and grew.
The long walks and drives, the rows upon the lake by sunlight and
moonlight, all conspired to perfect the comradeship. They read together,
sang together--very poorly to be sure--and once, just to vary the charm,
they travelled to a nearby town and danced at a village fête. An odd
thing happened there. Owing to high spirits and a sense of
unconventionality, they entered into the sports with abandon. Travers
even begged a reel with a pretty Swiss maiden, and led her proudly away,
much to Margaret's and Priscilla's delight. Later, the men and women of
the place came forward, and, entering a little ring formed by admiring
friends, performed, separately, the native dances.

Travers watched Priscilla with a puzzled look in his eyes. She trembled
with excitement; seemed hypnotized by the exhibition, much of which was
delightfully graceful and picturesque. Then, suddenly, to the surprise of
every one, she took advantage of a moment's pause and ran into the ring.

"Whatever possesses her?" whispered Margaret to Travers; "she looks
bewitched. See! she is--dancing!"

Travers watched the tall, slim figure in the thin white gown over
which a light scarf, of transparent crimson, floated as the evening
breeze and the girl's motions freed it. At first Priscilla took her steps
falteringly, her head bent as if trying to recall the measure and rhythm;