The music struck up. Lulu crossed both hands upon her chest, Mr. Polly clasped her round the waist, and they moved off with that sinew tension peculiar to dance-halls. Mr. Sippy turned to Lilly.
"Will you go round, Miss Harkins?"
They melted into the embrace of the dance and moved off. When Mr. Sippy danced every faculty was pressed into service—his head was thrown back and his feet glided like well-trained automatons.
"Wasn't that just grand!" breathed Lilly, when the music ceased. She was softly radiant.
"Swell!" agreed Mr. Sippy, applauding for an encore. "Swell!" He regarded her with new interest. "You're some dancer, kid," he said.
"Oh, Mr. Sippy, who could help dancin' good with you?"
They glided away again. After the waltz they sought the side-lines, where soft drinks were served. A waiter dabbed at the table-top; Lilly fanned herself and ordered sarsaparilla.
"You don't look hot—you look cool," said Mr. Sippy, admiringly.
She took a dainty draught through her straw.
"I'm just happy—that's all," she replied.