They opened the ball, and many significant comments were made
upon the fact. Gaspar Laurence was present. He was deeply
engaged for more than two hours in making up his mind whether he
should ask Beatrice to dance with him or not--she looked so
beautiful, so far above him. Gaspar could not help loving her--
that was impossible; the first moment he saw her he was
entranced. But his was a humble, hopeless kind of adoration. He
would sooner have dreamed of wooing and winning a royal princess
than of ever asking Beatrice to be his wife.
At length he summoned up courage, and was rewarded by a bright
smile and kind words. Poor Gaspar! When the beautiful face was
near him, and her hand rested on his shoulder, he thought he must
be dreaming.
"There," he said, when the dance was over; "I shall not dance
again. I should not like to lose the memory of that waltz."
"Why not?" she asked, wonderingly.
"I must be candid with you," said Gaspar, sadly. "Perhaps my
confession is a vain one; but I love you, Miss Earle--so dearly
that the ground on which you stand is sacred to me.
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