A very stout elderly lady, with a neck and arms that were hardly distinguishable from the red silk dress she wore, sailed up to them. "Come, come, Miss!" she said, beaming good-temperedly upon Maud's pale face. "We're not standing on ceremony to-night. We're all friends here. You won't mind going in with my boy Tom, I'm sure. He's considered quite the ladies' man, I can assure you."
"Oh, excuse me, Mrs. Wright? Miss Brian is going in with me," said Jake Bolton's smooth voice behind her. "Tom, you git!"
Somehow--before she knew it--the black-haired young man was gone from her path, and her hand lay trembling within Bolton's arm.
She did not utter a word, she could not. She felt choked.
Jake Bolton said nothing either. He only piloted her through the crowd with the smile of the winner curving the corners of his mouth.
They readied the dining-room, and people began to seat themselves around a long centre table. There was no formal arrangement, and some confusion ensued in consequence.
"Fight it out among yourselves!" yelled Sheppard above the din of laughter and movement. "Make yourselves at home!"
Bolton glanced round. "There's a table for two in that alcove," he said. "Shall we make for that?"
"Anywhere!" she said desperately.
He elbowed a way for her. The table was near a window, the alcove draped with curtains. He put her into a chair where she was screened from the eyes of those at the centre table. He seated himself opposite to her.