Slowly little Eve Edgarton lifted her great solemn eyes to the newcomer's face.
"A party?" she drawled. "A—a—dancing party—you mean? A real—Christian—dancing party?"
Dully the big eyes drooped again, and as if in mere casual mannerism her little brown hands went creeping up to the white breast of her gown. Then just as startling, just-as unprovable as the flash of a shooting star, her glance flashed up at Barton.
"O—h!" gasped little Eve Edgarton.
"O—h!" said Barton.
Astoundingly in his ears bells seemed suddenly to be ringing. His head was awhirl, his pulses fairly pounding with the weird, quixotic purport of his impulse.
"Miss Edgarton," he began. "Miss—"
Then right behind him two older men joggled him awkwardly in passing.
"—and that Miss Von Eaton," chuckled one man to another. "Lordy! There'll be more than forty men after her for to-morrow night! Smith! Arnold! Hudson! Hazeltine! Who are you betting will get her?"
"I'm betting that i will!" crashed every brutally competitive male instinct in Barton's body. Impetuously he broke away from the Edgartons and darted off to find Miss Von Eaton before "Smith—Arnold—Hudson—Hazeltine"—or any other man should find her!