Ginger loved the
upper circles, and now he romped the polka in the most approved
London fashion, his elbows advanced like a yacht's bowsprit, and, his
coat-tails flying, he dashed through a group of tradespeople who were
bobbing up and down, hardly advancing at all.
Esther was now being spoken of as the belle of the ball, she had danced
with young Mr. Preston, and seeing her sitting alone Grover called her and
asked her why she was not dancing. Esther answered sullenly that she was
tired.
"Come, the next polka, just to show there is no ill-feeling." Half a dozen
times William repeated his demand. At last she said--
"You've spoilt all my pleasure in the dancing."
"I'm sorry if I've done that, Esther. I was jealous, that's all."
"Jealous! What was you jealous for? What do it matter what people think,
so long as I know I haven't done no wrong?"
And in silence they walked into the garden. The night was warm, even
oppressive, and the moon hung like a balloon above the trees, and often
the straying revellers stopped to consider the markings now so plain upon
its disc. There were arbours, artificial ruins, darkling pathways, and the
breathless garden was noisy in the illusive light. William showed Esther
the theatre and explained its purpose. She listened, though she did not
understand, nor could she believe that she was not dreaming when they
suddenly stood on the borders of a beautiful lake full of the shadows of
tall trees, and crossed by a wooden bridge at the narrowest end.
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