"Have they? And what has become of Mrs. Phelps?" asked Joyce, feeling somewhat forsaken by her clan.
"She went in with the doctor some time ago. I rather think she has left, too. She had a headache, or something."
Joyce glanced around her with a dissatisfied expression.
"No," she said, "this won't do! We might as well all have stayed at home as to come here just for a supercilious glance or two, while we huddle together. And yet—whom can I ask to take me?"
Dalton, with his eyes upon her, wondered. Had she been at a ball, among her own kind, who would not have wanted her? Even had no hint of possessions gone abroad, she was peerless in beauty and brightness. He made a queer little sound which Madame caught, and laughed softly.
"You could ask anybody to take me," she said with evident amusement, "and possibly, if Mr. Dalton tries hard, he may find somebody even to take you, Joyce. I scarcely think they would refuse him."
He evidently appreciated her fine sarcasm.
"I could try hard," he returned, "provided I am too good for the office, myself. Let me see. I suppose Miss Lavillotte will not be satisfied unless I bring somebody as unattractive as possible—wait, I have it!"
With a quick "Excuse me!" he hurried away, soon to return with a grizzled man of uncertain age, who certainly was not attractive, though so greatly improved by clean linen and a stiff collar that Dalton had noticed the change at once. He was, in fact, the very man whom Dan so often heard haranguing in the cobbler's shop, and knew as Tonguey Murfree, though when voting he registered as Joseph H.
With an air of exaggerated courtesy Dalton led him up and introduced him.