a dogged obstinacy worthy of Nelson. And the
end of it was that before they went down to lunch it had been finally
agreed that Nan was to come to this ball; her mother remarking to Lady
Stratherne, with a sigh of resignation--

'I can't imagine what Sir George sees in that gawky child.'

Now, we have it on the best authority--or what ought to be the best
authority--that is to say, we have it from a multitude of lady-writers,
that the prospect of going to a first ball is one of the great joys of
a young girl's life. The present writer, at all events, is not bold
enough to impeach such an array of witnesses, and will only state the
simple fact that in the case of Nan Beresford this prospect filled her
mind with nothing but terror and dismay. It was in all sincerity that
she had besought Sir George to let her off; though she might as well
have gone down on her knees to the Monument. He could not understand
why a young girl of seventeen should be really reluctant to go to a
dance--and a very pretty dance, too, for the rooms were to be decorated
with flags. And when Nan told her mother and sisters that she would
far rather not go to the ball, her mother fancied she was afraid that
her dress, being hurriedly made, would not compare well with her
sisters' long studied costumes, while the sisters simply said to each
other, 'Oh, she knows she can't dance.'

There was some little truth in this last remark. Although she lived in
a well-frequented house, where there were plenty of people coming and
going, Nan had grown up very much apart. She had her own ways and
occupations, which were mostly solitary. And dancing had never been a
favourite amusement of hers. Of course, in the evening, when some
young people were present, there was frequently a carpet-dance
improvised; and then sometimes Nan was dragged in to make up a set at
some square dance. She got through it mechanically; but it afforded
her no special pleasure; and as for round dances, she said they made
her giddy, and so she got excused. Giddy she said; and yet she could
walk, without the slightest sensation in the brain, along the extreme
verge of those high chalk-cliffs, to watch the jackdaws, and hawks, and
gulls at nest-building time, and she could swing for an hour in a
trapeze, so long as the seat was comfortable and you gave her a book to
read.

Not that she at all played the part of Cinderella in the house. Her
mother was exceedingly fond of her--pa