And suddenly he saw her coming. She was alone--flushed, smiling; it
struck him that her frock was the same colour as the moonlight.

"Harold, will you dance?"

He would say 'Yes,' and she would be gone again! But his tutor only made
her a little bow, and said with that smile of his:

"Lennan and I have agreed that dancing is for the young."

"Sometimes the old must sacrifice themselves. Mark, will you dance?"

Behind him he heard his tutor murmur:

"Ah! Lennan--you betray me!"

That little silent journey with her to the dancing-room was the happiest
moment perhaps that he had ever known. And he need not have been so much
afraid about his dancing. Truly, it was not polished, but it could not
spoil hers, so light, firm, buoyant! It was wonderful to dance with her.
Only when the music stopped and they sat down did he know how his head
was going round. He felt strange, very strange indeed. He heard her say:

"What is it, dear boy? You look so white!"

Without quite knowing what he did, he bent his face towards the hand
that she had laid on his sleeve, then knew no more, having fainted.


VIII