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"Dances!" said Mrs. Van Tromp, almost breathless with surprise.

"Yes," promptly answered Lady Marian, getting up with alacrity, "not a stately measure like this—"

And here, she walked with matchless grace, a few steps of a courtly dance.

"But a hoydenish thing like this—"

Throwing her train over her arm, Lady Marian executed a pas de seul that would have done credit to any ballet girl in the world. Her heels flew up and her toes flew out, her skirts whirled wildly about, and she was a perfect picture of grace and abandon.

To a man of Macfarren's nature, who had a tender respect for all women, this exhibition, however graceful, could not but be painful. But when the woman in the case was the one dearest to him in the whole world, the pain became agony. But far was it from Mrs. Van Tromp to be shocked at any performance of Lady Marian de Winstanley, bed-chamber woman to the queen.

"Is that the queen's favorite dance?" she cried. "Then, dear Lady Marian, may I ask you to teach me a few steps of it."