And she.... She was dancing around gayly, enjoying herself leaving him so wretched and alone! She visioned him stretched out somewhere in another room on a lumpy hotel sofa, suffering!
She grew so distraught as this vision broadened in its scope as to the Misery of the Wonderful Mr. Bennet, that she missed step with Billy Watts, with whom she was dancing, entirely. She then stepped squarely on his foot, and missed the time again. And it was not only once or twice she did this most unpardonable thing, but three distinct times in quick succession.
Billy stopped short in the middle of the floor, disgusted.
"See here, Arethusa, what's the matter with you? I've asked you the same question about sixty times, and you've just been climbing all over me!"
Billy had somewhat adopted Timothy's tone with Arethusa. They were the oldest and best of friends by now, and he gave himself all the privileges of such a friend. Arethusa liked it ... generally.
She was most apologetic.
"I'm sorry, Billy." (She knew him quite well enough after these weeks to drop the formal, "Mr. Watts.") "I wasn't thinking about my feet just then. I was worrying about Mr. Bennet, He's real sick tonight, and he just went out somewhere. Do you reckon I'd better go see what's the matter with him?"
"Well, of all things!" Billy seized her forcibly around the waist and swung her back into the throng of dancers. "There's nothing the matter with that nut! He's probably off enjoying himself in his own sweet way."
But Arethusa wrenched herself away from his grasp; her quick anger flared.
"You just take that back right now, Billy Watts! Mr. Bennet's not a nut. And he's sick, he told me so himself! If you don't take it back, I won't dance another step with you, not one!"