She led the way down stairs, her smile as gay and unconcerned as ever, and Dorothea tried her best to imitate her care-free manner. At the foot of the stairs they met April, who stopped short in her tracks.
“I was wondering where you were,” April announced, looking squarely at Dorothea.
“Oh, Dorothea has been taking pity upon her old cousin,” Miss Imogene cut in. “We have been warming ourselves by the fire in her room. Old ladies do not have as many partners as they are used to and sometimes they like to slip away and forget that they are no longer belles. Dorothea has tried to make me forget.”
“It is the first time I ever heard that you lacked partners, Cousin Imogene,” April replied, not at all convinced by this explanation, but at that moment a young officer came up to claim a dance and there was no further opportunity to discuss the matter.
“Be careful of April,” Miss Imogene whispered in Dorothea’s ear. “Her eyes are very sharp. Remember she would stop at nothing to aid the Confederacy.”
Before Dorothea could more than nod, each had been claimed by partners and they were separated for the time being. Dorothea danced with Hal, who informed her that he was convinced that there never had been an escaped prisoner about the place and that it was foolish to put such absolute reliance in the hounds as some people were disposed to do. Under other circumstances this might have been cheering news to the girl, but she had no faith in her own theory of a draught and believed that Tracy was aware of what had been going on and, although she felt that the fact of Hal’s not being informed as yet might give some little encouragement, she was certain that sooner or later the whole household would know of the effort she had made to aid Larry Stanchfield to escape from Andersonville.
An hour or so later she was sitting between dances talking to a young man whom she had met that evening, when, looking across the room, she saw Val Tracy walk over and take a seat beside Miss Imogene. For some time Dorothea lost all idea of what her polite attendant was saying and he, doing his best to entertain this attractive young lady, grew more and more convinced that girls from England were cold and unresponsive, if not stupid.
Miss Imogene, with a bright untroubled smile, looked up at Val as he joined her.
“Are you coming to take pity upon a poor wall flower?” she asked in her gentlest and most appealing manner.
“I am most lucky to find you alone,” he answered gallantly. “It is unheard of for so lovely a lady not to be surrounded by a bevy of partners.”