Dora's fair brow grows darker and darker as she watches Florence, and
notes the smile that lights her beautiful face as she makes some answer
to one of Sir Adrian's sallies. Where is Dynecourt, that he has not been
on the spot to prevent this dance, she wonders. She grows angry, and
would have stamped her little foot with impatient wrath at this moment,
but for the fear of displaying her vexation.

As she is inwardly anathematizing Arthur, he emerges from the throng,
and, the dance being at an end, reminds Miss Delmaine that the next is
his.

Florence unwillingly removes her hand from Sir Adrian's arm, and lays it
upon Arthur's. Most disdainfully she moves away with him, and suffers
him to lead her to another part of the room. And when she dances with
him it is with evident reluctance, as he knows by the fact that she
visibly shrinks from him when he encircles her waist with his arm.

Sir Adrian, who has noticed none of these symptoms, going up to Dora,
solicits her hand for this dance.

"You are not engaged, I hope?" he says anxiously. It is a kind of
wretched comfort to him to be near Florence's true friend. If not the
rose, she has at least some connection with it.

"I am afraid I am," Dora responds, raising her limpid eyes to his.
"Naughty man, why did you not come sooner? I thought you had forgotten
me altogether, and so got tired of keeping barren spots upon my card for
you."