No others appeared for half an hour, and the five gentlemen looked at one another aside, each divining his own diplomacy in his fellow's eye, and each laboriously explaining to the others his own mistake in regard to the hour designated upon Mr.
Carewe's cards of invitation.

This small embarrassment, however, did not prevent General Trumble and young Mr.Chenoweth from coming to high words over Miss Carewe's little, gilt-filigree "programme" of dances.
It may be not untimely to remark, also, of these five redoubtable beaux, that, during the evening, it occurred to every one of them to be glad that Crailey Gray was betrothed to Fanchon Bareaud, and that he was down on the Rouen River with a canoe, a rod and a tent.

Nay, without more words, to declare the truth in regard to Crailey, they felt greater security in his absence from the field than in his betrothal.

As Mr.
Chenoweth, a youth as open as out-of-doors, both in countenance and mind, observed plaintively to Tappingham Marsh in a corner, while they watched Miss Betty's lavender flowers miraculously swirling through a quadrille: "Crailey, you know, well, Crailey's been engaged before!" It was not Mr.Chenoweth's habit to disguise his apprehensions, and Crailey Gray would not fish for bass forever.
The same Chenoweth was he, who, maddened by the General's triumphantly familiar way of toying with Miss Betty's fan between two dances, attempted to propose to her during the sunrise waltz.

Having sung "Oh, believe me" in her ear as loudly as he could, he expressed the wish--quite as loudly--"That this waltz might last for always!" That was the seventh time it had been said to Betty during the night, and though Mr.Chenoweth's predecessors had revealed their desires in a guise lacking this prodigious artlessness, she already possessed no novel acquaintance with the exclamation.