'You have no friend who could take you, even if I got you an
invitation?'

Margery looked at the moon. 'No one who can dance,' she said;
adding, with hesitation, 'I was thinking that perhaps--'

'But, my dear Margery,' he said, stopping her, as if he half-divined
what her simple dream of a cavalier had been; 'it is very odd that
you can think of nothing else than going to a Yeomanry Ball. Think
again. You are sure there is nothing else?'

'Quite sure, sir,' she decisively answered. At first nobody would
have noticed in that pretty young face any sign of decision; yet it
was discoverable. The mouth, though soft, was firm in line; the
eyebrows were distinct, and extended near to each other. 'I have
thought of it all day,' she continued, sadly. 'Still, sir, if you
are sorry you offered me anything, I can let you off.'

'Sorry?--Certainly not, Margery,' be said, rather nettled. 'I'll
show you that whatever hopes I have raised in your breast I am
honourable enough to gratify. If it lies in my power,' he added with
sudden firmness, 'you SHALL go to the Yeomanry Ball. In what
building is it to be held?'

'In the Assembly Rooms.'

'And would you be likely to be recognized there? Do you know many
people?'