“But you screamed with pain—and you’re so white. I’m going to call a doctor.”
“No—no—I won’t allow you to be so foolish. I—I’m perfectly all right, dear. You picked me up so suddenly and you’re so big and strong. It was just a stitch in my side. See, it’s entirely gone now.” She sat up on the edge of the bed.
“Just the same,” he said resolutely, “I’m not going! I wouldn’t think of leaving you alone.”
“But you are going, dear—I insist upon it. There’s not a thing in the world the matter with me, but if you stayed at home, you’d make me think I was really ill.”
For ten minutes she argued until he was finally persuaded to go. At the door she kissed him affectionately. “Good-night, darling! Have a wonderful time and don’t worry for a minute—I’m perfectly well.”
She never knew how she managed to reach her bed. For half an hour she suffered the agony of death until the spasm passed.
But Howard Benton went to his first dance in two years with a heavy heart. In spite of his mother’s repeated assurances that she was perfectly well, he could not get her white, drawn face out of his mind. Once or twice he was inclined to turn back, but the fear of aggravating her prevented him. At all events, he would insist upon her seeing a doctor to-morrow.
When he arrived at the Hall about nine-thirty, the dance was well under way. He felt strange and ill at ease. The crowd was so entirely different from the crowd in which he had mingled in the old days. Outside of a few of the boys from the office, he didn’t know a soul. But it didn’t take him very long to become acquainted. He was a good dancer, handsome, and a gentleman—three things always bound to attract young women in whatever station of life.
About eleven o’clock, Frank O’Connor, one of the Floor Committee came up to him: “Say, Benton,” he offered, “I want to introduce you to a peach of a girl. She’s a dandy dancer, and as pretty as a picture.”
“All right, you can’t hurt my feelings,” Howard laughed. “Lead the way!”