"But will you?"
For just a moment her eyes grew serious.
"Did you ever realize that we 've never been introduced?"
Fairchild was finding more conversation than he ever had believed possible.
"No—but I realize that I don't care—if you 'll forgive it. I—believe that I 'm a gentleman."
"So do I—or I would n't have danced with you."
"Then please—"
"Pardon me." She had laid a hand on his arm for just a moment, then hurried away. Fairchild saw that she was approaching young Rodaine, scowling in the background. That person shot an angry remark at her as she approached and followed it with streaming sentences. Fairchild knew the reason. Jealousy! Couples returning from the dance floor jostled against him, but he did not move. He was waiting—waiting for the outcome of the quarrel—and in a moment it came. Anita Richmond turned swiftly, her dark eyes ablaze, her pretty lips set and firm. She looked anxiously about her, sighted Fairchild, and then started toward him, while he advanced to meet her.
"I 've reconsidered," was her brief announcement. "I 'll dance the next one with you."
"And the next after that?"