At Robert Nixon’s invitation to Rosalie, Helen bit her lip. “Rude,—incredibly rude cub!” she thought. “I’ll never forgive him for that!”
The clinging of Rosalie to Mr. Derwent’s arm was another item in her disfavor; and Helen approached, her habitual self-control standing her in good stead, but all the rose-color of the opening of her evening turned to ashes of roses.
“I had no idea you were so proficient, Miss Vincent,” she said calmly. “Why haven’t you gone into this long ago?”
Rosalie met her cool regard admiringly.
“Things have changed for us both wonderfully since we met in the Park,” she said. “You look very lovely to-night.”
“Oh, really?” Helen gave a little laugh and quietly met Mr. Derwent’s eyes. “How kind!”
“Me next,” said Robert. “We’ll have to beat it in a minute, ’cause there are a lot more coming; but I want to tell you you’re a wonder. My nose felt like your foot when it’s asleep, and a pearly tear coursed down my rounded cheek—”
Here the speaker was pushed aside, and found it best to skip after Helen’s pink robe.
“Brute says this floor’s all right when the minions get the rugs up,” he said, as he joined her. “They don’t have any cards here, but you’ll give me the—yes, the second dance, won’t you—and the—yes, I remember you dance like a fairy. You must give me a lot.”