Joan's training stood her in good stead. Her lips twitched but remained in control. The elaborateness of his surprise, together with Ellen's rather guilty countenance, had already informed her that she was the victim of a plot, into which she walked obligingly.
"Well met, Mr. Blair! I wonder whether you have anything very important to do? If not, would you be good enough to take me home? Ellen really ought not to go out in the night air with her rheumatism."
"Dee—lighted," murmured Mr. Blair dazedly, in the language of his favorite hero. He recovered his hat, and with it some of his former aplomb. Indeed, as he walked away with his prize, solicitously steering her by one elbow, he was able to wink back over his shoulder at his fellow-conspirator.
It was the first time that he had been really alone with the One and Only. Hitherto their conversation had taken place against a background of other conversations, which were somehow helpful. Even when he had paid his two party calls in rapid succession, there had been others present; and though the inexplicable step-mother had quite obviously made opportunities for him to cut her out of the herd, so to speak, his nerve at the critical moment had always failed him.
It failed him now. He strolled beside her gloriously, as if on air, but in utter silence. He racked his brain for suitable conversation to offer, and for suitable language to offer it in. Somehow her crisp, cleancut speech (Joan had quite abandoned Southernism) made his own seem hideous, drawling, uncouth.
Again Joan came, more or less, to the rescue.
"Mr. Blair," she suggested gently, "if you don't mind I'd rather not be helped along quite so much. My elbow, you know!—I sha'n't stumble, I think. The sidewalks seem quite smooth."
He withdrew his hand as if it had been stung.
"Pardon me!" he gasped. "I didn't mean—
"I know—some girls like to be assisted," she said rather remorsefully (but after all a protégé must be taught!) "You'll find most of us, however, rather prefer our independence."