“Oh, Miss Blaisdell!” protested young Gaylord and Carl Pennock abjectly.
But Mellicent shook her head.
“No. If you will both write your names down for the same dance, it is nothing more than you ought to expect.”
“But divide it, then. Please divide it,” they begged. “We’ll be satisfied.”
“_I_ shan’t be!” Mellicent shook her head again merrily.
“I shan’t be satisfied with anything—but to sit it out with Mr. Smith. Thank you, Mr. Smith,” she bowed, as she took his promptly offered arm.
And Mr. Smith bore her away followed by the despairing groans of the two disappointed youths and the taunting gibes of their companions.
“There! Oh, I’m so glad you came,” sighed Mellicent. “You didn’t mind?”
“Mind? I’m in the seventh heaven!” avowed Mr. Smith with exaggerated gallantry. “And it looked like a real rescue, too.”
Mellicent laughed. Her color deepened.