"What an unnaturally pleasant thing a ball-room is!" he said,--"before
the dust rises and the lights flare, I mean. But nobody ever leaves
early; as the freshness vanishes, the extravagance deepens. Did you
ever notice how much faster the musicians play as it grows late? When
we open the windows, the fresh breath of the night increases the
delirium within. I have seen the quietest women toss their faded
bouquets out of the windows without a thought of making a comparison
between the flowers and themselves."
"My poor geraniums!" I said,--"what eloquence!"
He laughed, and answered,--
"My friend Maurice yonder would have said it twice as well."
We were in the promenade then, and stopped where the said Maurice was
fanning himself against the wall.
"May I venture to ask you for a waltz, Miss Denham? it is the next
dance on the card," said Maurice;--"but of course you are engaged."
I gave him my card, and he began to mark it, when Redmond took it, and
placed his own initials against the dance after supper, and the last
one on the list. He left me then, and I saw him a moment after talking
with Laura.
We passed a gay night. When Laura and I equipped for our ten miles'
ride, it was four in the morning. Redmond helped Frank to pack us in
the carriage, and we rewarded him with a knot of faded leaves.
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