“This is so sweet of you, ma chere, to grace our assembly with your presence,” smilingly remarked the fat and jolly minister, while rubbing his hands together nervously. “My compliments to your mama,” continued the diplomat, “but look out and do not lose your heart to my countryman, Mr. Barclugh. He is very gay, very gay.” He then passed on to General Arnold.
“No dancing for you, mon cher general, eh?”
“Certainment! Certainment!” replied the diplomat as the General pointed to his wounded knee, a relic of Saratoga.
Mollie now had a chance to pause for a few minutes from the gay whirl of the dance, but she wished that she had never been allowed the opportunity. She grew pale as she saw Roderick Barclugh talking with Mrs. Arnold in a confidential manner. There was just one nod of her head that spoke volumes to Mollie. Hot and cold tremors coursed through her veins, for she could not fathom Mrs. Arnold, therefore she was a mystery to her and Mollie did not like her.
“Is it Tuesday, then?” queried Mrs. Arnold in a voice above the music of the dance.
“Tuesday,” nodded Barclugh in reply, just loud enough for Mollie to hear it.
“Pardon me, Miss Mollie,” came from Barclugh as he took his seat, “I was just making an appointment to ride out with the Commandant and his wife next Tuesday.”
She made no reply, but looked displeased.
The intermission for refreshments ensued, and instead of going directly to the tables where the coffee and chocolate were served, Barclugh and Mollie continued their tete-a-tete.
“I missed your presence so much at Dorminghurst when we had our last tea party, Mr. Barclugh,” said Mollie with much emphasis.