I observed that Dr. John was at first permitted to walk at large through the classes: there was about him a manly, responsible look, that redeemed his youth, and half-expiated his beauty; but as soon as the ball began, Madame ran up to him.
“Come, Wolf; come,” said she, laughing: “you wear sheep’s clothing, but you must quit the fold notwithstanding. Come; I have a fine menagerie of twenty here in the carré: let me place you amongst my collection.”
“But first suffer me to have one dance with one pupil of my choice.”
“Have you the face to ask such a thing? It is madness: it is impiety. Sortez, sortez, au plus vite.”
She drove him before her, and soon had him enclosed within the cordon.
Ginevra being, I suppose, tired with dancing, sought me out in my retreat. She threw herself on the bench beside me, and (a demonstration I could very well have dispensed with) cast her arms round my neck.
“Lucy Snowe! Lucy Snowe!” she cried in a somewhat sobbing voice, half hysterical.
“What in the world is the matter?” I drily said.
“How do I look—how do I look to-night?” she demanded.
“As usual,” said I; “preposterously vain.”