They too stood among the spectators.
The dance they watched was the very embodiment of youth, and youth's delight in itself.

Constance knew, besides, that Falloden was looking on, and the knowledge gave a deeper colour to her cheek, a touch of wildness to her perfect grace of limb and movement.

Radowitz danced the Polish dance with a number of steps and gestures unknown to an English ballroom, as he had learnt them in his childhood from a Polish dancing-mistress; Constance, with the instinct of her foreign training, adapted herself to him, and the result was enchanting.

The slim girl in black, and the handsome youth, his golden hair standing up straight, _en brosse_, round his open brow and laughing eyes, seemed, as dancers, made for each other.

They were absorbed in the poetry of concerted movement, the rhythm of lilting sound.
"Mountebank!" said Falloden to Meyrick, contemptuously, as the couple passed.
Radowitz saw his enemy, and though he could not hear what was said, was sure that it was something insulting.