y it!'
thought Wych Hazel to herself. What should she do? Where
should she go?

Since the talk on the drive home from Mme. Lasalle's, the girl
had never set foot in one the round dances. Not that she gave
in to Mr. Rollo's strictures,--how could _she_ be mistaken?--but
because the talk had left an unbearable association about
everything that looked like a round dance. There was the
constant remembrance of the words he had spoken,--there was the
constant fear that he might stand by and think those thoughts
again. Then she had been extremely disgusted with Kitty
Fisher's new figures; and so, on the whole, in the face of
persuasions and charges of affectation, Miss Kennedy could be
had for nothing but reels, country dances, and quadrilles.
Miss Fisher and her set were furious, of course; for all the
gentlemen liked what Miss Kennedy liked: there was no use
talking about it.

If anybody had asked the girl in those weeks before the fancy
ball what she was doing--and why she wanted to do it,--she would
have found it hard to tell. Braving out people's tongues, was
one thing; and plunging into all sorts of escapades because
any day they might be forbidden, was another. A sort of wild
resolving that her young guardian should _not_ feel his power;
and endeavour to prove to him that anybody aspiring to that
office without her leave asked and obtained, was likely to
serve a short term.

'Is it only till you marry, my dear?--or is it for life?' Mme.
Lasalle said, meaningly. And Hazel laughed off an answer, and
set her little foot down (mentally) with tremendous force.
Wouldn't she marry whom she liked--_if_ she liked?

'He proposes to make you his wife'--Mrs. Coles had said. She
would like to know what his 'proposing' had to do with it?--
except, perhaps, as an initiatory step.

It was a new version of _Katharine and Petruchio_,--sneered Kitty
Fisher.

It was a striking instance of disinterested benevolence--in so
young a man! chimed in Mrs. Seaton,--until at last Hazel rushed
into anything that would put a black coat or whirl of white
muslin between her and her tormentors. If she was in truth
running away from herself as well, the confusion was too great
for her to know it just then. The very idea of stopping to
think what he meant and what she meant, frightened her; and
then she ran faster than ever.

Of all this Rollo was but slightly aware. Yet he did guess at
part of it. He had seen too much of both men and women