“The young man glanced furtively at his watch, and a spasm of pain crossed his features as he realised he must say adieu to the fair young girl before him.”
Austin said this in a whimsical, high-pitched tone, and Patty laughed aloud in spite of herself.
“Thank you,” he said, earnestly, for his admiration of her musical laugh was now a standing joke between them. “And by the way, there’s a dance at Three Towers to-morrow night. I suppose you’ll go. Will you give me all the odd-numbered dances? Just for luck, you know.”
“All the odd numbers! Why, I never heard of such greediness! I’ll give you just one dance, and you may be thankful if you get all of it!”
“Somehow, I can’t feel alarmed, for I know you’ll change your mind a dozen times before to-morrow night comes.”
“How well you read me! But truly, I can’t help it. I always fraction up my dances, and they won’t come out even, and then I have to tear up my programme, and then of course I can’t remember who’s who in the ballroom.”
“Who’s hoodooed in the ballroom, you mean. But after that programme’s torn up, I may fare better than in the face of its accusing statistics.”
“Tell me something about Mr. Homer,” said Patty, as she looked at the tall man who was the centre of an admiring group.
“Peter Homer? Well, he’s the rightest kind of a fellow, a great scholar, and the best-looking man I ever saw,—outside my own mirror.”
“Do you think you’re pretty?” asked Patty, looking at him with an air of innocent inquiry.