But that is not the story I started to tell.--As the dancing went on,
Nolan and our fellows all got at ease, as I said,--so much so, that it
seemed quite natural for him to bow to that splendid Mrs. Graff, and
say,--
"I hope you have not forgotten me, Miss Rutledge. Shall I have the honor
of dancing?"
He did it so quickly, that Shubrick, who was by him, could not hinder
him. She laughed, and said,--
"I am not Miss Rutledge any longer, Mr. Nolan; but I will dance all the
same," just nodded to Shubrick, as if to say he must leave Mr. Nolan to
her, and led him off to the place where the dance was forming.
Nolan thought he had got his chance. He had known her at Philadelphia,
and at other places had met her, and this was a Godsend. You could not
talk in contra-dances, as you do in cotillons, or even in the pauses of
waltzing; but there were chances for tongues and sounds, as well as for
eyes and blushes. He began with her travels, and Europe, and Vesuvius,
and the French; and then, when they had worked down, and had that long
talking-time at the bottom of the set, he said, boldly,--a little pale,
she said, as she told me the story, years after,--
"And what do you hear from home, Mrs.
Pages:
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32