“Are you afraid of Willy?” returned Nugent, without taking his elbows off the table, or making any move.
“No, of course I’m not. But I don’t like to throw him over.”
“Oh, I see!” he said, still without moving, and regarding me with an aggravating amusement.
“Well, I am going——” I began, when a hand was laid on my arm.
“I am delighted to hear it,” said Connie’s voice, “as we want this table. Get up, Nugent, and give me your chair. Nothing would induce me to sit at that bear-garden”—indicating the larger table. “What do you think I heard Miss Donovan say to that little Beamish man—English Tommy—as I was making my way up here? ‘Now, captain, if you say that again, I’ll pelt my plate of jelly at you!’ And I haven’t the least doubt that at this moment his shirt-front is covered with it.”
“Oh, all right,” said Nugent, slowly getting up, “you can have this table; we were just going. Miss Sarsfield is very anxious to find Willy. She says she is going to dance all the extras with him.”
“Then she is rather late,” replied Connie, unconcernedly. “Captain Forster, go at once and get me some game-pie. Don’t tell me there’s none; I couldn’t bear it. Well, my dear,” she continued, “perhaps you are not aware that the extras are all over, and No. 12 is going on now?”
“Have you seen Willy anywhere?” I asked, feeling rather than seeing the sisterly eye of facetious insinuation that Connie directed at her brother. “I am engaged to him for No. 12.”
“At this moment he is dancing with Miss Dennehy,” answered Connie, “but I know he has been looking for you. He has prowled in and out of the conservatory twenty times.”
“He was in here too,” said Nugent; “and I think he saw you,” he added, as we walked into the hall. “What would you like to do now? Willy has evidently thrown you over, and I expect my partner has consoled herself. I think the safest plan is to hide somewhere till this is over, and, as 13 is ours, we can then emerge, and dance it with blameless composure.”