"This is something like!" she cried. "This is what I call life! Come on, Dick—'Waltz me around again, Willie, around, around, around!'"
"But," protested the Major, "it is some time since I have waltzed, my love—"
"Never mind, you'll waltz with me! Anybody can dance with me. The boys used to call me Lightfoot Ef—Oh, but you'll have to get a partner for Joan, first, of course; I forgot we had a family along."
The girl flushed, aghast at the thought of her father whirling in the midst of that whirling throng. "No, no, Effie May, please—!" she urged. "Let's just sit here quietly and look on."
The other laughed aloud. "Naturally! That's what we've come to a dance for, to sit against the wall and look on—Nonsense! Go and find your child a partner, Dick, and hurry back. My feet just won't keep still." She was humming gaily in time with the orchestra.
The Major, gazing a little blankly at the crowd of strangers before him, obediently went forth to do her bidding, and Effie May seized the occasion to give a little womanly advice.
"Don't you fret, Joan—remember there's as many young fellows in the world crazy to know girls as there are girls crazy to know them. And dearie"—her voice sank to a friendly whisper—"warm up to 'em a little, can't you? Jolly 'em along. Hot air, you know, talk! No matter what you say, just keep talking. That don't-touch-me, butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth air may be all right with the nuns and the old families but it won't go down with the men. Believe me, dearie! I know."
It was a well-meant effort, which had the effect of congealing the already subdued Joan into something resembling a marble effigy.
The Major shortly returned, bearing urbanely in his wake a blond young man who seemed not too unwilling.
"I want you to meet my wife, sir," he was saying. "I want to have the pleasure of presenting you to my daughter. Fancy the coincidence, my dears—this gentleman turns out to be the son of an old schoolmate!"