elated, however. He became silent, and eyed me sentimentally
"Why don't you have an ice?" I asked, presently, feeling annoyed at his stupidity. "This pineapple is very good—there are real pieces of fruit in it."
"Ah, Miss Bouverie," said he, "I am not in an ice humor."
"Ha, Ha! what a good pun!" I laughed flippantly, wishing he would remove his eyes. "You ought to keep me in countenance, though. I always think people look so gluttonous eating by themselves."
My lord took a chair and an ice at the same time, and sat down beside me. He spoke very little, which I ascribed to the fact that he was enjoying his ice. When he had finished, he asked me if I had any more dances to give him. I looked at my programme. I had none. My lord scowled.
"Miss Bouverie," he said, "you are the only girl here I care about dancing with. All these belles of sixteen seasons weary me," languidly, "and you give me only one meagre waltz."
