“Now you have done it!” was Floyd Austin’s comment, as he presented himself, and gazed in frank admiration at Patty’s pretty evening gown of fluffy white tulle, decorated with silver tracery. “Is that the frock of a hundred frills?”
“Aptly named, Floyd,” said Lady Kitty; “and a becoming costume for my little girl, isn’t it?”
“Oh, fair,—madame, fair,” said Austin, teasingly.
“I’d rather be asked to dance than to have ambiguous compliments,” said Patty, tapping her foot in time to the Viennese music of the orchestra.
“Come, then,” said Austin, in a tone of patient resignation. “Shall I humour her, Lady Kitty?”
Smiling assent was given, and the two joined the dancers on the polished floor.
“How different from dancing in America,” said Patty, as they wound slowly in and out among the circling throng.
“It’s different from anything, anywhere, any time,” said he.
“You’re too vague,” she sighed. “I never know whether you’re making fun of me or not. Don’t I dance right?”
“Right? You dance like—like——”