Eleanor hesitated. One of the ten social commandments imposed upon her was that she was never to leave the porch at a Country Club dance. That the porch edge should be regarded as the limit of propriety had always seemed to her the height of absurdity; but so far she had obeyed the family and confined her flirtations to shadowy corners and dim nooks under bending palms.
"What's the trouble?" Harold inquired solicitously. "The little gold slippers?"
"No—I don't mind the slippers; but, you see, I'm not supposed to go off the porch."
"How ridiculous! Of course you are going off the porch. I have only one hour to stay, and I've something very important to tell you."
"But why can't we sit here?" she insisted, indicating an unoccupied bench.
"Because those ubiquitous youngsters will be clamoring for you the moment the music begins. Haven't you had enough noise for one night? Perhaps you prefer to go inside and be pushed about and eat messy things with your fingers?"
"Now you are horrid!" Eleanor pouted. "I only thought——"
"You mean you didn't think!" corrected Harold, putting the tip of his finger under her chin and tilting her face up to his. "You just repeated what you'd been taught to say. Use your brains, Eleanor. What possible harm can there be in our quietly sitting out under the light of the stars, instead of on this crowded piazza with that distracting din going on inside?"
"Of course there isn't really."
"Well, then, come on"; and he led the way across the strip of dewy lawn and handed her into the car.