Blair threw back his head and gently roared. He was one of the people who always made Joan feel herself a wit of the first water.
Yet she was a little sorry he had come to-night. She had sent him the card to her début ball by way of repaying an obligation. He had been very thoughtful on the train about getting her fruit and papers—almost too thoughtful; and had insisted, somewhat to Joan's embarrassment, on paying for the two meals they had taken together in the dining-car. She did not care to remain in debt to a stranger; hence the invitation. But she had not, somehow, expected him to take advantage of it.
Since he was here, however, she must do what she could for him. She knew what it was to be a stranger in a gay throng.
"Do you know any girls?" she asked.
"Not to speak to—though I've seen some of the young ladies on the street, of course. This is the first time I've ever been out in Society," he explained simply.
"Yes? I'm a débutante too, you know. And how do you like Society, so far?"
"Fine, fine!" he told her. "Better even than I thought it was. Makes the movie pictures of it look sort of silly."
"You ought to go to the Horse Show next week if you find this sort of thing interesting. I hear it is to be something splendiferous!"
"I will," he assured her, earnestly.
"And now I'd better introduce you to some other people." She shook her head smilingly at a youth who was about to touch him on the shoulder. After all, one owes something to the duties of hospitality. "Though really you don't have to meet girls at a thing like this before you ask them to dance. I don't know the names of half the men I dance with."