“It looks crowded,” remarked Marjorie; “and yet when you count them there really aren’t many couples dancing.”
Keeping close to the wall and carefully steering their way between the dancers, the girls reached some seats in the corner.
“Such elaborate dresses!” Lily exclaimed, after a hasty glance from one girl to another. “Marj, I don’t believe that one of them has sleeves in her gown!”
“The girls certainly aren’t poor,” returned Marjorie, thinking in amusement of the conversation she had had with Daisy that afternoon. “And they seem to know all the latest tricks in dancing.”
“They need spanking!” denounced her companion irritably. “Look at the way that girl is resting her head—right on her partner’s shoulder! Dare me to stop her and advise her that if she’s tired she better go to bed?”
“Oh, Lil, do be careful!” warned Marjorie, fearful lest she might antagonize the girls at the very beginning. “Of course, they haven’t had any home-training, and you can’t expect them to have our standards.”
“Well, they couldn’t possibly hear me above all this awful noise,” returned Lily. “Did you ever hear such an apology for music in your life?”
Marjorie, however, was not interested in the orchestra; she was there to chaperone the girls, and if she failed in doing that, at least to turn in a reliable report upon the evening’s entertainment. She did not mean to waste a minute; if possible she intended to size up the character of every girl present.
With a loud clang the jazz piece abruptly came to an end, the dancers stopped impatiently and began to applaud uproariously. During the brief pause before the encore, Mrs. Morgan, a stout, motherly sort of woman, edged her way towards the visitors.
“How do you do, Ladies!” she said breezily. “Miss Winthrop’s friends, aren’t you?”