But that is not the story I started to tell. As the dancing went on,
Nolan and our fellows all got at ease, as I said: so much so, that it
seemed quite natural for him to bow to that splendid Mrs. Graff and
say:
"I hope you have not forgotten me, Miss Rutledge. Shall I have the
honour of dancing?"
He did it so quickly, that Fellows, who was with him, could not
hinder him. She laughed and said:
"I am not Miss Rutledge any longer, Mr. Nolan; but I will dance all
the same," just nodded to Fellows, as if to say he must leave Mr.
Nolan to her, and led him off to the place where the dance was
forming.
Nolan thought he had got his chance. He had known her at Philadelphia,
and at other places had met her, and this was a godsend. You could not
talk in contra-dances as you do in cotillions, or even in the pauses
of waltzing; but there were chances for tongues and sounds, as well as
for eyes and blushes. He began with her travels, and Europe, and
Vesuvius, and the French; and then, when they had worked down, and had
that long talking time at the bottom of the set, he said boldly--a
little pale, she said, as she told me the story years after--
"And what do you hear from home, Mrs. Graff?"
And that splendid creature looked through him. Jove! how she must have
looked through him!
"Home!! Mr. Nolan!!! I thought you were the man who never wanted to
hear of home again!"--and she walked directly up the deck to her
husband, and left poor Nolan alone, as he always was.
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