Carrollton, again offering her his arm; and though a little vexed,
those few words of commendation were worth more to Maggie than the
most flattering speech which Henry Warner had ever made to her.
Soon after leaving the piano a young man approached and invited her to
waltz. This was something in which Maggie excelled; for two winters
before Madam Conway had hired a teacher to instruct her granddaughters
in dancing, and she was about to accept the invitation, when, drawing
her arm still closer within his own, Mr. Carrollton looked down upon
her, saying softly, "I wouldn't."
Maggie had often waltzed with Henry at home. He saw no harm in it, and
now when Arthur Carrollton objected, she was provoked, while at the
same time she felt constrained to decline.
"Some time, when I know you better, I will explain to you why I do
not think it proper for young girls to waltz with everyone," said Mr.
Carrollton; and, leading her from the drawing room, he devoted himself
to her for the remainder of the evening, making himself so perfectly
agreeable that Maggie forgot everything, even Henry Warner, who in
the meantime had tried to obtain recognition from Madam Conway as an
acquaintance.
A cool nod, however, was all the token of recognition she had to give
him. This state of feeling augured ill for the success of his suit;
but when at a late hour that night, in spite of grandmother or
Englishman, he handed Maggie to the carriage, he whispered to her
softly, "I will see her to-morrow morning, and know the worst.
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