Marietta and her partner whirled past the doorway.
Polly arose. “If we must talk in this fashion,” she responded, “we had better find a more secluded spot.”
“I will take you home,” he decided, offering his arm.
Many glances followed them as they picked their way between the dancers. Polly wore a mask of smiles. David looked straight ahead. So they reached the front entrance.
“I will bring the car round,” he said.
“Not for me,” answered Polly softly. And she stepped outside.
“Are you refusing to go with me?” he questioned severely.
“We cannot talk here,” she demurred, and led the way to a seat under a tree.
“Will you answer me?” he scowled.
“You brought Marietta down, and I think you had better take her home.”