Robin had fully intended to dance with May Sutherland because dancing with her would afford the only opportunity they would have to talk and he had scarcely realized how eager he was to talk to May Sutherland until Ivy began taking measures to forestall anything of the kind. Robin was both irritated and puzzled. But he had a nimble wit and a touch of diplomacy. He was willing to concede a point, to make a concession.
“If I give her the go-by will you promise not to dance with Mark Steele?”
“Why, how can I,” Ivy manifested surprise, “if he asks me?”
“You can tell him you got another partner,” Robin suggested, “or say you’re tired. Any darned fool thing girls say when they don’t want to dance with a man.”
“I can’t,” Ivy declared.
“You mean you won’t. What’s the difference in you dancin’ with Shinin’ Mark when you know I’d rather you wouldn’t and me dancin’ with Miss Sutherland?”
Robin kept his tone gentle although he had an impulse to shake soundly this morsel of perverse prettiness he held in his arms. He even managed to get a jocular note into what he said.
“Lots of difference. I’ve often danced with Mark. You never kicked. You never said you didn’t want me to dance with him.”
Robin was dumb. He couldn’t tell Ivy why. He couldn’t explain to her that he had never liked Mark Steele, nor why that dislike had suddenly become acute.
“Well,” he said unhappily, “what’s fair for one ought to be fair for the other. If you’re dead set on being mean, go ahead.”