res of the silvery lake. He
was standing there, slapping at things that looked like mosquitoes, but
could not have been, for the advertisements expressly stated that none
were ever found in the neighbourhood of Ye Bonnie Briar-Bush Farm, when
along she came. She walked slowly, as if she were tired. A strange
thrill, half of pity, half of something else, ran through Henry. He
looked at her. She looked at him.

'Good evening,' he said.

They were the first words he had spoken to her. She never contributed
to the dialogue of the dining-room, and he had been too shy to seek her
out in the open.

She said 'Good evening,' too, tying the score. And there was silence
for a moment.

Commiseration overcame Henry's shyness.

'You're looking tired,' he said.

'I feel tired.' She paused. 'I overdid it in the city.'

'It?'

'Dancing.'

'Oh, dancing. Did you dance much?'

'Yes; a great deal.'

'Ah!'

A promising, even a dashing start. But how to continue? For the first
time Henry regretted the steady determination of his methods with the
_Encyclopaedia_. How pleasant if he could have been in a position
to talk easily of Dancing. Then memory reminded him that, though he had
not yet got up to Dancing, it was only a few weeks before that he had
been reading of the Ballet.

'I don't dance myself,' he said, 'but I am fond of reading about it.
Did you know that the word "ballet" incorporated three distinct modern
words, "ballet", "ball", and "ballad", and that ballet-dancing was
originally accompanied by singing?'

It hit her. It had her weak. She looked at him with awe in her eyes.
One might almost say that she gaped at Henry.

'I hardly know anything,' she said.

'The first descriptive ballet seen in London, England,' said Henry,
quietly, 'was "The Tavern Bilkers", which was played at Drury Lane
in--in seventeen--something.'

'Was it?'

'And the earliest modern ballet on record was that given by--by someone
to celebrate the marriage of the Duke of Milan in 1489.'

There was no doubt or hesitation about the date this time. It was
grappled to his memory by hoops of steel owing to the singular
coincidence of it being also his telephone number. He gave it out with
a roll, and the girl's eyes widened.

'What an awful lot you know!'

'Oh, no,' said Henry, modestly. 'I read a great deal.'

'It must be splendid to know a lot,' she said, wistfully. 'I've never
had time for reading. I've always wanted to. I think you