though I lacked practice to make my step perfect. The princess had
needed no practice, but had danced beautifully from the first, her
strong young limbs and supple body taking as naturally to anything
requiring grace of movement as a cygnet to water.

This, thought I, is my opportunity to teach Jane the new dance. I
wanted to go to her first, but was afraid, or for some reason did not,
and took several other ladies as they came. After I had shown the step
to them I sought out my sweetheart. Jane was not a prude, but I
honestly believe she was the most provoking girl that ever lived. I
never had succeeded in holding her hand even the smallest part of an
instant, and yet I was sure she liked me very much; almost sure she
loved me. She feared I might unhinge it and carry it away, or
something of that sort, I suppose. When I went up and asked her to let
me teach her the new dance, she said:

"I thank you, Edwin; but there are others who are more anxious to
learn than I, and you had better teach them first."

"But I want to teach you. When I wish to teach them I will go to
them."

"You did go to several others before you thought of coming to me,"
answered Jane, pretending to be piqued. Now that was the unkindest
thing I ever knew a girl to do--refuse me what she knew I so wanted,
and then put the refusal on the pretended ground that I did not care
much about it. I so told her, and she saw she had carried things too
far, and that I was growing angry in earnest. She then made another
false, though somewhat flattering, excuse: