contribution to an acquaintance. He looked straight into Catherine's
eyes. She answered nothing; she only listened, and looked at him;
and he, as if he expected no particular reply, went on to say many
other things in the same comfortable and natural manner. Catherine,
though she felt tongue-tied, was conscious of no embarrassment; it
seemed proper that he should talk, and that she should simply look at
him. What made it natural was that he was so handsome, or rather, as
she phrased it to herself, so beautiful. The music had been silent
for a while, but it suddenly began again; and then he asked her, with
a deeper, intenser smile, if she would do him the honour of dancing
with him. Even to this inquiry she gave no audible assent; she
simply let him put his arm round her waist--as she did so it occurred
to her more vividly than it had ever done before, that this was a
singular place for a gentleman's arm to be--and in a moment he was
guiding her round the room in the harmonious rotation of the polka.
When they paused she felt that she was red; and then, for some
moments, she stopped looking at him. She fanned herself, and looked
at the flowers that were painted on her fan. He asked her if she
would begin again, and she hesitated to answer, still looking at the
flowers.

"Does it make you dizzy?" he asked, in a tone of great kindness.

Then Catherine looked up at him; he was certainly beautiful, and not
at all red. "Yes," she said; she hardly knew why, for dancing had
never made her dizzy.

"Ah, well, in that case," said Mr. Townsend, "we will sit still and
talk. I will find a good place to sit."