"I thought I would make myself safe before one of your other friends espied you here; but if you are tired"—
"I am never tired—physically," said the girl, with a slow smile.
"I was only going to say that I would be content to sit out the next with you; although we have not danced together since that night in the boathouse." Jack smiled. "Do you remember what you told me?"
"Oh yes. You made that child very happy. She owes you a dance."
"These surroundings are strange. Have you been thinking of it?"
"Yes. Only last year this ground was a tangle of goldenrod and willow-trees. How many times we have gone bathing on that beach! It was as good a playground for jolly youngsters as could be imagined; and now"—
She paused.
"Now, the music has commenced," suggested Jack, rising. "In consideration of the manner in which I have effaced myself so far, you should allow our dance to begin promptly."
They entered the parlor by the door which leads from the east piazza. She put her hand in his, and they glided away over the polished floor among the pillars with their vine-like wreaths of electric lights.
Amid the scattering groups which, outside, watched the dancers through the windows, was one spectator who was seeing a conventional dancing party for the first time in her life. It had suddenly occurred to Robert Page that it would be worth the exertion of going after Aunt Love to see her view this pretty scene; and when Hilda and Gorham reached the front entrance of the hotel in their search for Robert, they found him ascending the steps with Miss Berry.