"You were sure of us," she returned. "I have not danced for five years. It seems to me I should never have thought of it again but for your invitation."
"You do not care for the amusement, then?"
"Clover Bryant used to care greatly," she said, smiling; "but perhaps Mrs. Van Tassel has forgotten how to dance."
They found the long, spacious piazza of the hotel gay with promenaders.
Robert Page groaned. "How marvelous is the endurance of man and woman kind," he remarked. "How many of these people do you suppose have been doing the Fair to-day?"
"You mustn't talk about the Fair," returned his wife. "It is fortunate for you that the diversion came up, else I should have spent this evening weeping because I have said good-by."
"Have you come over here with the notion that I am going to dance?" asked Page mildly.
"No, I haven't the least idea you will. I wouldn't ask it, since you were foolish enough to tramp miles to-day."
"How could I help that, my dear, with the awful 'last chance' sensation hanging over me?"
The orchestra in the hotel parlor began to play. Jack Van Tassel came up to where the husband and wife were sitting.