So the waves of heat and hurt passed over her as she crossed the room on Nixie’s arm, seeing, ahead of her, Irving devotedly talking to Mrs. Nixon as they moved toward the star of the evening.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE DANCE
With the approval of her audience ringing in her ears, and Mr. Derwent’s kindly presence and support to bridge over the awkward first moments that assail the drawing-room entertainer when her work is done, Rosalie might scarcely have been able to keep her slender white slippers touching earth but for an anchor, a ball and chain, which Betsy had in all kindness attached to her on the last evening they spent together.
They had sat on the edge of the bed in their boarding-house, talking, and Betsy plunged boldly into a subject that lay heavy on her heart.
“I feel just as certain as I sit here,” she said, “that you’re goin’ to make a success of it at that inn.”
“O Betsy,—” the young girl took her friend’s hand joyously,—“I like to hear you say so, and I do really believe I can please them because I love to do it so.”