Tom Fuller stood in the bay window for some time trying to collect his scattered faculties. Any thing like rational thought was quite out of the question with him; he felt as if a great humming-top were spinning about in his ears, and his heart was in a state of palpitation that utterly defies description.
Finally he passed through the drawing-rooms where people were busy over their cards or their small-talk, and entered the ball-room from which he had rushed in such frenzy.
There was a pause in the music, and Elsie was standing surrounded by a group of gentlemen, not even seeing Tom as he approached. He managed to edge himself into the circle at last, and stood watching Elsie very much like a sheep-dog that wanted dreadfully to worry something, but knew that he would get himself into difficulty if he even ventured on a bark.
But speak with her, he would; Tom had reached that point where his feelings must find vent or explode, and scatter mischief all around.
Finally a brilliant idea struck him, and he got near enough to whisper—
"Bessie wants to see you a moment."
Elsie turned away impatiently.
"Now, this moment," added Tom, growing very red at his own fib, but following it up courageously.
He knew very well that the dandies were quizzing him; he saw that Elsie was provoked; but though he trembled in every joint, and his face had heat enough in it to have kept a poor family comfortably warm from the reflection, he resolutely held out his arm, and the young lady took it, pouting and flinging back smiles to her forsaken admirers.
"My sister wants me," she said, in explanation to her friends. "Tiresome, isn't it? for there is no guessing when she will let me come back."