seated. Jane having rested, Brandon offered to teach her the new
dance, saying he could whistle an air well enough to give her the
step. I at once grew uneasy with jealous suspense, for I did _not_
wish Brandon to dance in that fashion with Jane, but to my great
relief she replied:

"No; thank you; not to-night." Then shyly glancing toward me: "Perhaps
Sir Edwin will teach me when he learns. It is his business, you know."

Would I? If a month, night and day, would conquer it, the new dance
was as good as done for already. That was the first real mark of favor
I ever had from Jane.

We now had some songs from Mary and Jane; then I gave one, and Brandon
sang again at Mary's request. We had duets and quartets and solos, and
the songs were all sweet, for they came from the heart of youth, and
went to the soul of youth, rich in its God-given fresh delight in
everything. Then we talked, and Mary, and Jane, too, with a sly, shy,
soft little word now and then, drew Brandon out to tell of his travels
and adventures. He was a pleasing talker, and had a smooth, easy flow
of words, speaking always in a low, clear voice, and with perfect
composure. He had a way of looking first one auditor and then another
straight in the eyes with a magnetic effect that gave to everything he
said an added interest. Although at that time less than twenty-five
years old, he was really a learned man, having studied at Barcelona,
Salamanca and Paris. While there had been no system in his education,
his mind was a sort of knowledge junk-shop, wherein he could find
almost anything he wanted. He spoke German, French and Spanish, and
seemed to know the literature of all these languages.