He hurried her to the door. Alert, energetic, self-confident, he had taken command of affairs. Belinda's spirits soared. After all, she reflected, there's something about a man. He has his moments.
It was raining. The crowd had scattered, the carriages had gone. As Lieutenant Wendell raised an umbrella and looked sharply around for a cab Belinda's eyes caught sight of a row of dripping umbrellas ranged along the curb. Below the umbrellas were carefully lifted petticoats. She counted the umbrellas. There were twelve.
"Jack, look!"
He looked. Belinda darted forward.
The umbrellas were lifted and disclosed twelve girlish faces. On each face was a wide-spreading, comprehending, maddening grin, but not a girl spoke.
Belinda's cheeks were crimson, but she pulled herself together heroically.
"Good night, Mr. Wendell. Come, girls."
They dropped into line, still grinning.
Jack stepped to Belinda's side for a moment.
"Cheer up. They look like a good sort—but if there is any trouble let me know," he said softly.