Love had taken her quite unawares. They had both been attending a ball, but were not together because they had already shared the regulation two dances. Elizabeth had been wearing new slippers, which pinched her toes so badly that she was convinced that she must have at least one blister. The house belonged to the parents of one of her intimate friends. She had hobbled to the library, hoping that her aunt would not miss her presence for a while. She closed the door quietly behind her and sank into the nearest chair with an audible sigh. Moonlight from the full-length windows sent shafts of dim light across the carpet.

"Can it be that the indefatigable Elizabeth Rossiter is actually fatigued?" a teasing and familiar voice had asked.

Elizabeth, startled, had looked across to see a dim form occupying a wing chair beside the fireplace.

"Robert, how you startled me!" she had said. "And what are you doing here, pray?"

"Sulking because I cannot dance with you again," he had replied.

Elizabeth had laughed. "What flummery!" she had said lightly. "Anyway, sir, if you really wish to dance with me, you may do so right here. The orchestra can quite plainly be heard. But you must permit me to remove my slippers and allow my blisters some breathing room."

She had been joking. But he had got up from his chair, come across the room to her, and knelt in front of her chair.

"Poor Elizabeth," he had teased gently, "smiling politely at all your admirers in the ballroom and secretly nursing two feetful of blisters." He had lifted her feet one at a time and removed the shoes. She had sighed with exaggerated contentment, and he had laughed.

"Come," he had said, taking her by the hand, "now you may dance in comfort and I may have the partner of my choice."