a Spanish
grandmother might still survive in Nancy, as far as her light feet
were concerned. She danced like a flower in the wind. She made you
feel light of foot yourself, as if you were whirling and blowing and
waving through the air; as if you could go out dancing and dancing
over the deep blue sea water of the bay, and find floor enough to
touch and whirl upon. But Nancy had always seemed to take her gifts
for granted; she had the simplicity of genius. "I can't say now, but I
am sure to find out," said Tom Aldis definitely. "I'll try to make
some sort of plan for you. I wish we could have another dance,
ourselves."

"Oh, not now," answered Nancy sensibly. "It's knowing 'most all the
people that makes a party pleasant."

"My aunt would have asked you to come to luncheon to-day, but she had
to go out of town, and was afraid of not getting back in season. She
would like to see you very much. You see, I'm only a bachelor in
lodgings, this winter," explained Tom bravely.

"You've been just as good as you could be. I know all about Boston
now, almost as if I lived here. I should like to see the inside of one
of those big houses," she added softly; "they all look so noble as you
go by. I think it was very polite of your aunt; you must thank her,
Mr. Aldis."

It seemed to Tom as if his companion were building most glorious
pleasure out of very commonplace materials. All the morning she had
been as gay and busy as a brook.

By the middle of the afternoon he knocked again at cousin Snow's door
in Revere Street, and delivered an invitation. Mrs. Annesley, his
aunt, and the kindest of women, would take Nancy to an afternoon class
at Papanti's, and bring her back afterwards, if cousin Snow were
willing to spare her. Tom would wait and drive back with her in the
coupe; then he must hurry to Cambridge for a business meeting to which
he had been suddenly summoned.

Nancy was radiant when she first appeared, but a few minutes later, as
they drove away together, she began to look grave and absent. It was
only because she was so sorry to think of parting.

"I am so glad about the dancing class," said Tom. "I never should have
thought of that. They are all children, you know; but it's very
pretty, and they have all the new dances. I used to think it a horrid
penance when I was a small boy."

"I don't know why it is," said Nancy, "but the mere thought of music
and dancin' makes me feel happy. I never saw any real good dancin