“Yes!”
“Why are you not dancing?”
“Nobody to dance with—unless you will favor me,” he added gallantly.
“No, my dear cousin, I have danced once to-night and I am afraid I had better not venture again. I am very fatigued from the unwonted exertion.” Indeed, the old lady did look tired, although very happy and contented. “Why do you not endeavor to engage my charming vis-a-vis? I see she is not dancing either.”
“Humph! She has given me to understand she preferred talking to old Pete Barnes to dancing with me. She’s a strange girl, Cousin Ann, and I can’t make her out.”
At least Jeff had the satisfaction of seeing Judith refuse to dance with Tom Harbison. That young man had crossed the floor with his accustomed assurance, had bowed low in front of Judith and begged her to favor him, 164 even taking her by the hand and endeavoring to draw her from her chair, but she had refused him in short order.
Judith danced and danced with the old men. Whatever the step they decided to take the girl followed. She was a born dancer and, after a few paces, could adapt herself to any partner. There were other young men besides Jeff and Tom who sought her hand in the dance, but she was always engaged to some one of the ten old men. The only chance for the young ones was for the old ones to fall by the wayside, which they did occasionally when their old legs refused to carry them farther.
“I’d break in on them if they weren’t so old,” declared one young farmer.
“It wouldn’t do a bit of good,” said a young doctor. “I tried and she turned me down—said she had promised the old duffer the whole dance.”
So it happened that Judith’s time was fully taken up by her fairy godfathers until the supper-time intermission.