"Why such splendor?" she asked finally.
"Oh, I didn't know you were there. Why," he explained, amazed that explanation was necessary, "to-night is the big night. Our Bachelor's Dance. Don't you remember you were invited—as chaperone. I'm on the committee."
"Hope you have a good time. Who are you taking?"
He colored defiantly. "Annie Traeger."
"Oh-ho, I thought it was Delia Williamson that you—"
"It was, but she got too gay, so I thought I'd teach her a lesson."
"Poor Delia," sighed Georgia, mischievously.
"Oh, I'll have a dance or two with her," Al promised, putting on his coat and giving his hair a last pat with the tips of his fingers. He departed with the trill of a mocking bird. He had been a famous whistler from childhood.
Georgia tiptoed to the door of the living room. There was no sound. Father Hervey must have gone. She turned the knob and went in.
"Good evening, my child," said the priest, rising courteously and extending his hand. "I was resting a moment, hoping you might be home."