“Thank ye, but I can’t dance—only jigs and reels.”
“Well, I cannot imagine any one going to a ball that can only dance jigs,” said Gussie Tripp, “especially when she is not old enough to care for supper.”
“Signs on it, I agree with you with all my heart,” declared the brogue in the corner. “I wanted to stay at home. I don’t know why Lady Mulgrave was set on bringing me, seeing I can’t dance a step, and I never eat supper.”
“There is such a thing as looking on,” suggested Sir Henry Coxford.
“And—sitting out,” supplemented Tito.
“That’s true,” said Sir Henry. “Lady Joe, you and I will sit out a couple of dances, eh? Here we are, and a bit late too,” he added, as they drove under an illuminated porch, descended, and joined the rest of their company—a party of no less than twelve.
“Quite an invading force, are we not, dear Mrs. Hampton?” said Lady Mulgrave, as she shook hands with her hostess. “I think you know most of them, except my stepdaughter, Lady Joseline, and Prince Bambinetto”—presenting them as she spoke. “I am afraid we are a little late.”
“The third waltz; but you do not dance, I know. There is bridge—in the end room, and you will, I hope, get a rubber.”
The party moved on and presently dissolved among the gay company. Joseline, who was not sorry for Sir Henry’s escort, made her way with him into a wide corridor hung with tapestry lined with splendid furniture, and priceless inlaid cabinets.