The Balfours were very rich people—city people; "something in the stockbroking or bankruptcy line, I believe," Ernest Carnegie told Nelly Holt succinctly as they drove round in the brougham with his sister; and their dance was of the finest modern moneyed fashion. "Positively reeks with Peruvian bonds and Deferred Egyptians, doesn\'t it?" said Harold, as they went up the big open staircase and through the choice exotic flowers on the landing. "Old Balfour has so much money, they say, that if he tries his hardest he can\'t spend his day\'s income in the twenty-four hours. He had a good hard try at it once. Prince of Wales or somebody came to a concert for some sort of public purpose—hospital, or something—and old B. got the whole thing up on the tallest possible scale of expenditure. Spent a week in preparation. Had in dozens of powdered footmen; ordered palms and orange-trees in boxes from Nice; hung electric lights all over the drawing-room; offered Pattalini and Goldoni three times as much for their services as the total receipts for the charity were worth; and at the end of it all he called in a crack accountant to reckon up the cost of the entertainment. Well, he found, with all his efforts, he\'d positively lived fifty pounds within his week\'s income. Extraordinary, isn\'t it?"[Pg 137]

"Very extraordinary indeed," said Nellie, "if it\'s quite true, you know."

"You owe me the first waltz," Harold said, without noticing the reservation. "Don\'t forget it, please, Miss Holt."

"I say, Balfour," Ernest Carnegie observed to the son of the house, shortly after they had entered the ballroom, "who\'s that beautiful tall dark girl over there? No, not the pink one, that other girl behind her in the deep red satin."

"She? oh, she\'s nothing in particular," Harry Balfour answered carelessly (the girl in pink was worth eighty thousand, and her figure cast into the shade all her neighbours in Harry Balfour\'s arithmetical eyes). "Her name\'s Walters, Isabel Walters, daughter of a lawyer fellow—no offence meant to your profession, Carnegie. Let me see: you are the lawyer, aren\'t you? No knowing you two fellows apart, you know, especially when you\'ve got white ties on."

"No, I\'m not the lawyer fellow," Ernest answered quietly; "I\'m the doctor fellow. But it doesn\'t at all matter; we\'re used to it. Would you mind introducing me to Miss Walters?"

"Certainly not. Come along. I believe she\'s a very nice girl in her way, you know, and dances capitally; but not exactly in our set, you see; not exactly in our set."

"I should have guessed as much to look at her," Ernest answered, with a faint undertone of sarcasm in his voice that was quite thrown away upon Harry Balfour. And he walked across the room after his host to ask Isabel Walters for the first waltz.

"Tall," he thought to himself as he looked at her: "dark, fine face, beautiful figure, large eyes; makes her own dresses; strange sort of person to meet at the Balfours\' dances."

Isabel Walters danced admirably. Isabel Walters talked[Pg 138] cleverly. Isabel Walters had a character and an individuality of her own. In five minutes she had told Ernest Carnegie that she was the Poor Relation, and in that quality she was asked once yearly to one of the Balfours\' Less Distinguished dances. "This is a Less Distinguished," she said quickly; "but I suppose you go to the More Distinguished too?"

"On the contrary," Ernest answered, laughing; "though I didn\'t know the nature of the difference before, I\'ve no doubt that I have to thank the fact of my being Less Distinguished myself for the pleasure of meeting you here this evening."

Isabel smiled quietly. "It\'s a family distinction only," she said. "Of course the Balfours wouldn\'t like the people they ask to know it. But we always notice the difference ourselves. My mother, you know, was the first Mrs. Balfour\'s half-sister. But in those days, I need hardly tell you, Mr. Balfour hadn\'t begun to do great things in Grand Trunk Preferences. Do you know anything about Grand Trunk Preferences?"

"Absolutely nothing," Ernest replied. "But, to come down to a more practical question: Are you engaged for the next Lancers?"

"A square dance. Oh, why a square dance? I hate square dances."

"I like them," said Ernest. "You can talk better."

"And yet you waltz capitally. As a rule, I notice the men who like square dances are the sticks who can\'t waltz without upsetting one. No, I\'m not engaged for the next Lancers. Yes, with pleasure."

Ernest went off to claim little Nellie Holt from his brother.

"By Jove, Ernest," Harold said, as he met him again a little later in the evening, "that\'s a lovely girl you were dancing with just now. Who is she?"

"A Miss Walters," Ernest answered drily.[Pg 139]

"I\'ll go and get introduced to her," Harold went on, looking at his brother with a searching glance. "She\'s the finest girl in the room, and I should like to dance with her."

"You think so?" said Ernest. And he turned away a little coldly to join a group of loungers by the doorway.

"This is not our Lancers yet, Mr. Carnegie," Isabel said, as Harold stalked up to her with her cousin by his side. "Ours is number seven."

"I\'m not the same Mr. Carnegie," Harold said, smiling, "though I see I need no introduction now. I\'m number seven\'s brother, and I\'ve come to ask whether I may have the pleasure of dancing number six with you."

Isabel looked up at him in doubt. "You are joking, surely," she said. "You danced with me just now, the first waltz."

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