"It is all my monumental vanity," she thought. "I am glad Jack isn't one of the sort of men who stand around in corners and watch one tragically."
She had danced several times when Clover, left near her by Gorham Page while he went to bring her a glass of water, addressed her.
"You haven't danced with Jack once," she said, with hasty reproach.
"Haven't I?" Mildred raised her eyebrows.
"But aren't you going to, dear?"
"Not unless he asks me, darling."
Clover stared, then turned away to smile. She had not often seen Mildred in such an ill-humor.
"Poor, dear, unconscious Petruchio," she reflected. "I wonder if he is building better than he knows."
Here Page returned with the water, and she could say no more, even if she wished. Moreover, Gorham now addressed Mildred, to claim the dance for which the strains of the Washington Post March were already sounding assertively.
Jack had this two-step with Hilda, and when it was over he brought her to a seat near those which Mildred and Gorham had taken on the piazza.