loved the company of the young. He himself would
lead off the minuet,--save when once or twice his Excellency Governor
Sharpe chanced to be present,--and would draw his sword with the young
gallants that the ladies might pass under. And I have seen him join
merrily in the country dances too, to the clapping of hands of the
company. That was before Dolly and I were let upon the floor. We sat
with the other children, our mammies at our sides, in the narrow gallery
with the tiny rail that ran around the ball-room, where the sweet odour
of the green myrtleberry candles mixed with that of the powder and
perfume of the dancers. And when the beauty of the evening was led
out, Dolly would lean over the rail, and pout and smile by turns. The
mischievous little baggage could hardly wait for the conquering years to
come.

They came soon enough, alack! The season Dorothy was fourteen, we had a
ball at the Hall the last day of the year. When she was that age she had
near arrived at her growth, and was full as tall as many young ladies
of twenty. I had cantered with her that morning from Wilmot House to Mr.
Lloyd's, and thence to Carvel Hall, where she was to stay to dinner. The
sun was shining warmly, and after young Harvey had taken our horses we
strayed through the house, where the servants were busy decorating, and
out into my grandfather's old English flower garden, and took the seat
by the sundial. I remember that it gave no shadow. We sat silent for
a while, Dorothy toying with old Knipe, lying at our feet, and humming
gayly the burden of a minuet. She had been flighty on the ride, with
scarce a word to say to me, for the prospect of the dance had gone to
her head.

"Have you a new suit to wear to-night, to see the New Year in, Master
Sober?" she asked presently, looking up. "I am to wear a brocade that
came out this autumn from London, and papa says I look like a duchess
when I have my grandmother's pearls."

"Always the ball!" cried I, slapping my boots in a temper. "Is it, then,
such a matter of importance? I am sure you have danced before--at my
birthdays in Marlboro' Street and at your own, and Will Fotheringay's,
and I know not how many others."

"Of course," replies Dolly, sweetly; "but never with a real man. Boys
like you and Will and the Lloyds do not count. Dr. Courtenay is at
Wilmot House, and is coming to-night; and he has asked me out. Think of
it, Richard! Dr. Courtenay!"

"A plague upon him! He is a fop!"