"Clicketty clicketty clack clack!" went the clogs on the stage; I watched, with the others, while the light twinkling feet within them danced on and on.
I was thinking all the while. Of course it would break my heart if I saw that pretty girl at the piano actually married to the man she had already poached. Yes, of course it would, I told myself resolutely; but at the bottom of my heart I was stifling a mad little imp of an idea. This whispered:—
"You wouldn't mind if Muriel married Harry now. Although it was a stab, it wasn't a deep one. Don't pretend! For you are really through with Harry. It is not about Harry that you are worrying any more!"
—Ah! Now I was getting nearer the truth. I was coming to it, coming... But I still told myself it was Harry whose engagement would hurt me. Why should I mind if——
Here a storm of applause broke out all round me. It was the end of the clog-dance, but in the midst of the din I went on revolving my own little problem.
I told myself that, of course, it was comparatively nothing to me if Muriel chose to marry this devoted cousin of hers, Captain Holiday. He (I considered, personally) was rather too good for her. Still, most other people would consider that no man could be too good for a girl as lovely as Muriel Elvey.
Anyhow, it was no business of mine. Who was I? Merely a Land Girl, sunburnt and coarsely clothed, a worker in training at a farm on Captain Holiday's estate. Why should I care twopence about this whole question? I didn't care. Of course, I didn't care.
Here Sybil, who had secured a programme, leant over me to look at mine. The next item read: "Song: 'Until!' by Sergeant Sydney Escott."
"Ah," said Vic, with feeling, "now we are going to hear something. Eh, Peggy?"
All the Land Girls were leaning towards the smallest Timber Girl, chaffing and smiling encouragement. Peggy, to whom this was "the" item of the programme, popped a piece of toffee into her mouth, and assumed a look as if she had never heard the singer's name before.