Robert ended in a rush of crimson embarrassment as Helen moved steadily onward toward the corner where Mrs. Nixon had taken a seat.
“Thank you,” she returned. “It is fortunate for me that you dance as well as you do other things; because after all, I’m a stranger here, you know, and beggars mustn’t be choosers.”
Mrs. Nixon received the pair with a smile. “Well, my dears,” she said, “we’ve all done our duty, haven’t we?”
“Pourvu seulement she doesn’t tell mamma,” thought Robert with a sinking of the heart.
“Haven’t we?” he responded airily. “And look at my noble uncle—I’m not quite sure whether his name is Quixote or Casabianca; but I hope he’ll get off the rug soon, so it can be taken up.”
“Yes,” responded Mrs. Nixon graciously. “I’m glad there’s to be dancing, for I may be a fond mamma, but I do think when you and dear Helen dance, that the poetry of motion is reached. Where has Mrs. Bruce disappeared to?”
“Never end your sentences with a preposition, mother! But despite your inelegance I will go and find her for you;” and Robert moved away, his eager eyes searching, but not for Irving’s stepmother. He soon descried the tall outline of his friend, standing alone in the dusk of the veranda, and he charged upon him.
“Brute, I’ve put my foot in it!” he ejaculated.
Irving turned slowly and regarded him.
“That’s all you ever take it out for, so far as I can discover,” he replied pessimistically.