"As I shall not dance this set, would it not be as well for you to find some one else? The music is just starting."
He did not appear to listen to the remark. His eyes were riveted on the little satin programme, suspended by a little silver cord at her belt, and he saw the initials of Arthur Hollis written opposite six or eight dances.
His face grew hard, stern, and rigid. Had he been blind not to have noticed what was going on, when it was so plainly apparent to every one else?
"I should like to ask something of you," he said, pointing to the card. "I want you to promise me that you will not dance any more with Arthur Hollis."
With a feeling of mingled rage and pain he saw that Ida turned first pale then scarlet. She drew herself up to her full height and looked at him with a hauteur which she never knew she possessed.
"May I ask why you make such a request?" she asked, sharply.
"For to-day let it be enough that I make the request. Will you promise me?"
All the spirit that Ida possessed was up in arms.
"Certainly not," Ida responded. "I would not dream of breaking an engagement for no reason whatever."
There was a pause, filled only by the strains of distant music.