"I won't."

"And every third one after that."

"I know!" she called, over her partner's shoulder, and her voice was
amused--but meek.

When "the third from now" came, George presented himself before her
without any greeting, like a brother, or a mannerless old friend.
Neither did she greet him, but moved away with him, concluding, as she
went, an exchange of badinage with the preceding partner: she had been
talkative enough with him, it appeared. In fact, both George and Miss
Morgan talked much more to every one else that evening, than to each
other; and they said nothing at all at this time. Both looked
preoccupied, as they began to dance, and preserved a gravity, of
expression to the end of the number. And when "the third one after
that" came, they did not dance, but went back to the gallery stairway,
seeming to have reached an understanding without any verbal
consultation, that this suburb was again the place for them.

"Well," said George, coolly, when they were seated, "what did you say
your name was?"

"Morgan."

"Funny name!"

"Everybody else's name always is."