“Yes, to see you,” she again declared, placing her hand upon his arm, and lifting her blue eyes to his. “I knew you would be here.”
At this moment Frank discovered that Inza had entered and was looking toward them. He longed to hurry to her side, but he could not leave Effie Random without positive rudeness.
“What is the matter, Mr. Merriwell?” said Effie, rather sharply. “You do not seem to be listening? I am talking to you!”
“I beg your pardon!” hastily replied Frank, blushing, when he realized how rude his manners must have seemed. “It’s one of my spells—that’s all.”
“Do you have them often?” she asked, with a light laugh.
“Oh, no; only occasionally. I am afraid they make me appear very rude. Physicians whom I have consulted say I may outgrow them by the time I am eighty or ninety, and that I shall not be troubled by them all the rest of my life after that.”
Lord Stanford came up.
“Pawdon,” he said; “but I think this is our dawnce, Miss Random.”
She looked at him, and then, as Frank was on the point of excusing himself, she said:
“Not this one, Lord Stanford. I said I would give you a waltz, but I am engaged to Mr. Merriwell for this one.”