“Of course it is,” I said cheerily, though I felt rather alarmed. “Look at it in black and white.”
Willy did not look at the card which I held towards him.
“It doesn’t appear that my name being written there makes much difference,” he answered, making a movement as if to pass on.
“Oh, Willy, that isn’t fair! You know I danced ever so often with you before supper, and afterwards I was looking for you everywhere; was I not, Mr. O’Neill?”—turning for corroboration to Nugent. He, however, had left me to fight my own battles, and was at a little distance, deep in conversation with Mr. Dennehy. I saw that, whether verified or not, my explanations had but little effect upon Willy, and I boldly assumed the offensive. “You know, I never said that I was going to give you all those dances that you took.”
“Of course you were at perfect liberty to do what you liked about them,” returned Willy, without looking at me.
“Don’t be absurd! You know quite well what I mean, and if you had wanted to dance with me you might very easily have found me. I was only in the supper-room.”
He said nothing, and just then we heard the first few notes of the next waltz.
“You will dance this with me, will not you?” I said, thoroughly unhappy at the turn things were taking. “I am very sorry. I did not think you would mind. Don’t be angry with me, Willy,” I ended impulsively, putting my hand into his arm.
He looked at me almost wildly for a moment; and then, without a word, we joined the stream of dancers who were returning to the ball-room.