With Edged Tools | Page 3

the forest in the midst of domestic animals.
She mentally put him down for a waltz, and before five minutes had
elapsed he was bowing before her while a mutual friend murmured his
name. One does not know how young ladies manage these little affairs,
but the fact remains that they are managed. Moreover, it is a singular
thing that the young persons who succeed in the ballroom rarely
succeed on the larger and rougher floor of life. Your belle of the ball,
like your Senior Wrangler, never seems to do much afterwards--and
Afterwards is Life.
The other young men rather fell back before Guy Oscard--scared,
perhaps, by his long stride, and afraid that he might crush their puny

toes. This enabled Miss Chyne to give him the very next dance, of
which the music was commencing.
"I feel rather out of all this," said Oscard, as they moved away together.
"You must excuse uncouthness."
"I see no signs of it," laughed Millicent. "You are behaving very nicely.
You cannot help being larger and stronger than--the others. I should say
it was an advantage and something to be proud of."
"Oh, it is not that," replied Oscard; "it is a feeling of unkemptness and
want of smartness among these men who look so clean and correct.
Shall we dance?"
He looked down at her, with an admiration which almost amounted to
awe, as if afraid of entering the throng with such a dainty and
wonderful charge upon his powers of steering. Millicent Chyne saw the
glance and liked it. It was different from the others, quite devoid of
criticism, rather simple and full of honest admiration. She was so
beautiful that she could hardly be expected to be unaware of the fact.
She had merely to make comparisons, to look in the mirror and see that
her hair was fairer and softer, that her complexion was more delicately
perfect, that her slight, rounded figure was more graceful than any
around her. Added to this, she knew that she had more to say than other
girls--a larger stock of those little frivolous, advice-seeking,
aid-demanding nothings than her compeers seemed to possess.
She knew that in saying them she could look brighter and prettier and
more intelligent than her competitors.
"Yes," she said, "let us dance by all means."
Here also she knew her own proficiency, and in a few seconds she
found that her partner was worthy of her skill.
"Where have you been?" she asked presently. "I am sure you have been
away somewhere, exploring or something."

"I have only been in Africa, shooting."
"Oh, how interesting! You must tell me all about it!"
"I am afraid," replied Guy Oscard, with a somewhat shy laugh, "that
that would NOT be interesting. Besides, I could not tell you now."
"No, but some other time. I suppose you are not going back to Africa
to-morrow, Mr. Oscard?"
"Not quite. And perhaps we may meet somewhere else."
"I hope so," replied Miss Chyne. "Besides, you know my aunt, Lady
Cantourne. I live with her, you know."
"I know her slightly."
"Then take an opportunity of improving the acquaintanceship. She is
sitting under the ragged banner over there."
Millicent Chyne indicated the direction with a nod of the head, and
while he looked she took the opportunity of glancing hastily round the
room. She was seeking some one.
"Yes," said Oscard, "I see her, talking to an old gentleman who looks
like Voltaire. I shall give her a chance of recognising me before the
evening is out. I don't mind being snubbed if--"
He paused and steered neatly through a narrow place.
"If what?" she asked, when they were in swing again.
"If it means seeing you again," he answered bluntly--more bluntly than
she was accustomed to. But she liked it. It was a novelty after the
smaller change of ballroom compliments.
She was watching the door all the while.
Presently the music ceased and they made their way back to the spot

whence he had taken her. She led the way thither by an almost
imperceptible pressure of her fingers on his arm. There were several
men waiting there, and one or two more entering the room and looking
languidly round.
"There comes the favoured one," Lady Cantourne muttered, with a
veiled glance towards her companion.
Sir John's grey eyes followed the direction of her glance.
"My bright boy?" he inquired, with a wealth of sarcasm on the
adjective.
"Your bright boy," she replied.
"I hope not," he said curtly.
They were watching a tall fair man in the doorway who seemed to
know everybody, so slow was his progress into the room. The most
remarkable thing about this man was a certain grace of movement. He
seemed to be specially constructed to live in narrow,