She was startled back to actual life by
a voice close to her. One of the dancing young ladies had met with a
misfortune. Her dress, of some gossamer material, had been looped up
by nosegays of flowers, and one of these had fallen off in the dance,
leaving her gown to trail. To repair this, she had begged her partner
to bring her to the room where the assistants should have been. None
were there but Ruth.

"Shall I leave you?" asked the gentleman. "Is my absence necessary?"

"Oh, no!" replied the lady. "A few stitches will set all to rights.
Besides, I dare not enter that room by myself." So far she spoke
sweetly and prettily. But now she addressed Ruth. "Make haste. Don't
keep me an hour." And her voice became cold and authoritative.

She was very pretty, with long dark ringlets and sparkling black
eyes. These had struck Ruth in the hasty glance she had taken, before
she knelt down to her task. She also saw that the gentleman was young
and elegant.

"Oh, that lovely galop! How I long to dance to it! Will it never be
done? What a frightful time you are taking; and I'm dying to return
in time for this galop!"

By way of showing a pretty, childlike impatience, she began to beat
time with her feet to the spirited air the band was playing. Ruth
could not darn the rent in her dress with this continual motion, and
she looked up to remonstrate. As she threw her head back for this
purpose, she caught the eye of the gentleman who was standing by; it
was so expressive of amusement at the airs and graces of his pretty
partner, that Ruth was infected by the feeling, and had to bend her
face down to conceal the smile that mantled there. But not before
he had seen it, and not before his attention had been thereby drawn
to consider the kneeling figure, that, habited in black up to the
throat, with the noble head bent down to the occupation in which
she was engaged, formed such a contrast to the flippant, bright,
artificial girl who sat to be served with an air as haughty as a
queen on her throne.

"Oh, Mr Bellingham! I'm ashamed to detain you so long. I had no idea
any one could have spent so much time over a little tear. No wonder
Mrs Mason charges so much for dress-making, if her work-women are so
slow."

It was meant to be witty, but Mr Bellingham looked grave. He saw the
scarlet colour of annoyance flush to that beautiful cheek which was
partially presented to him. He took a candle from the table, and held
it so that Rut