“Where did you learn to dance, Veronica?” queried Marjorie thoughtlessly. Instantly she regretted having asked the question. Hastily she added: “That was rather a personal question. Perhaps I shouldn’t——”
“Oh, I don’t object to telling you, Marjorie.” A faintly amused smile dawned upon Veronica’s lips. “I have known how to dance ever since I was a child. Most of my dances like ‘Night’ and ‘Butterfly’ I made up. The Shadow dance I learned from seeing it done by another person. I used to——” Again the provoking break in her speech occurred.
Marjorie’s face fell. Why did Veronica always pause in the middle of what promised to be an interesting revelation? What an extremely peculiar girl she was. She could not refrain from wondering, too, at the beautiful robe that this charming but tantalizing young person wore. It must have cost a considerable sum of money. Yet Veronica appeared to regard it with the carelessness of one who was accustomed to the best of everything. Perhaps she had at one time been possessed of wealth and had met with sudden reverses. Still, it was hardly likely that, given such a contingency, she would now be so humbly earning her living and education. Marjorie’s swift cogitations ended in a sigh of defeat at her inability to reconcile lowly Veronica with her handsome dancing dress.
Veronica’s voice, quivering with suppressed laughter, broke in upon her perplexed meditations. “Now you are wondering all sorts of things about me,” she guessed, flashing a tender glance at Marjorie. “Never mind. Some day I may be able to set all your doubts at rest.”
“It isn’t a question of doubts, Ronny.” Marjorie returned the other girl’s glance with one of equal affection. “I haven’t a single doubt about you. It’s only that sometimes you puzzle me.”
“I know I do. There are certain things——”
The arrival of Constance cut short what bade fair to have been a confidence on Veronica’s part. Directly behind Constance came Mignon La Salle. Her black eyes widened as she caught sight of Veronica. As Constance warmly greeted the latter the French girl continued to stare at the black-garbed figure as though unable to believe her own eyesight.
“Good evening,” she said stiffly, inclining her haughty head very formally to Veronica. “Sorry to intrude. I thought I might find Geraldine here.”
“Didn’t you see her when you came in?” asked Marjorie in surprise.
“Oh, yes. I saw her then, but I wish to tell her something.” Mignon tossed her head. Unable to keep her grievance to herself she continued angrily: “I must have the lemonade bowl moved to one of the booths. I don’t like the present location of it. When Geraldine,” she loftily refused to shorten it to Jerry, “mentioned it to me, I didn’t pay any particular attention to what she was saving. I wish I had. At any rate, it will have to be moved.”