The orchestra had struck up again and as other couples went out on the floor, Penny tugged at her father's sleeve.
"Come on, Dad. Let's dance."
"You know I hate it, Penny."
"Just one," she pleaded. "I've had no fun at all this evening."
"Oh, all right," he gave in. "But remember, one dance is the limit."
"That depends upon how many times you step on my feet," Penny laughed.
Actually, Christopher Nichols was a far better dancer than he imagined himself to be. His steps were introduced in a mechanical routine which sometimes annoyed Penny, but otherwise he made an excellent partner, gliding smoothly over the floor with the ease and grace of a young man.
"How am I doing?" he mumbled in his daughter's ear as he whirled her deftly about to avoid striking another couple.
"Not bad at all," Penny responded, smiling. "Consider yourself engaged for the next dance."
"Only one I said. I don't want to be laid up with rheumatism tomorrow."