to Miss Seymour. But
Charlie, always alive to the possibilities of a new acquaintance, always
eager to be first in the field, dropped his quest of the mama. With an
air of nonchalant abstraction he went to stand in the neighborhood of
the new arrival, conveniently at hand for an introduction. He saw then
that there were two fine new birds; the light and size of the one had at
first obscured the other, though she, too, had on a Paris dress and
diamonds and a smile. But the dress--though there could be little
difference in the women's age, both were young, without being unripe
girls,--was of soberer tones: a sage green moire with pale
coffee-colored lace; and the jewels were more modest, and the smile was
smaller, its beam did not carry so far, nor was perched on so
considerable an eminence.

As he had known she would do, Mrs. Foss after a moment looked about her
for men to introduce. And there he was.

Mrs. Hawthorne. Miss Madison.

Leslie had at the same moment brought up Captain Viviani, who spoke a
little English, and liked very much to practise it with the charming
American ladies, as he told them.

Mrs. Foss lingered awhile, helping the progress of the acquaintance by
bits of elucidation and compliment, then, when the thing was under way,
withdrew so adroitly that she was not missed. A young man, coming up to
importune Leslie for a promised dance, was allowed to carry her off;
Miss Madison, assured by the _capitano_ that he could dance the
American waltz, trusted herself, though a little doubtfully, to his
arms; and Charlie was left with Mrs. Hawthorne.

"Shall we take a turn?" he offered.

"Me?" The lady gave him a look sidewise from dewy blue eyes, as if to
see whether he were serious. He perceived that she with effort kept her
dimples from denting in. He could not be sure what the joke was. But she
went on, as if there had been no joke: "I was brought up a Baptist. My
pa and ma considered it wicked to dance, so would never let me learn. It
doesn't look very wicked to me."

She watched the dancers with an earnestly following eye, preoccupied, he
supposed, with the moral aspect of their embraces and gyrations.

"It looks easy enough," she said, with suppressed excitement, immensely
fascinated. "I should think anybody could do that. You hop on this foot,
you slide, you hop on that foot, you slide. I believe I could do it. No,
no, I mustn't let myself be tempted. I don't want to be a sight." Her
voice had w