Fanny had edged toward Guy. “Let’s get away,” she whispered. “We haven’t had more than ten minutes alone the whole evening.”
Guy’s face brightened. “I don’t believe there’s anyone in the conservatory.”
As Fanny started for the door she asked: “Aren’t you girls dancing?”
Mrs. Burrell answered for them: “I’ve been urgin’ them, but they won’t.”
“I don’t know how,” the eldest girl explained, with a note of resentment in her voice, which her mother at once detected.
“I should think you’d be ashamed to say so, Carrie Cora, after all them lessons last Winter.”
“It’s too hot in there,” said Gladys, who, being the prettiest, evidently considered that she need not try very hard to be amiable.
“Well, good-bye,” said Fanny, unceremoniously. “Come on, Guy.”
Mrs. Burrell followed the slim figure with an envious look in her eyes. “Ain’t she the bright little thing?” she remarked, addressing her husband. “I wish our girls was more like her. She’ll marry someone ’way up. You see if she don’t.”
“Oh, I guess our girls can hold their own against anyone, Sarah,” Burrell replied.