"Kenny, should I?"
"Should you what, dear?"
"Dance when—when Uncle—"
"If your heart is glad and your feet want to dance, mavourneen," said Kenny gently, "then no conventional pretense of mourning shall stop them. You were kind and merciful while he lived. Even he, dear, would not ask more."
"If my Victrola arm has been winding in vain while you two practiced half the floor off the studio," put in Ann, "I shall be offended. I dreamed last night that I was an organ-grinder teaching Sid to dance."
Joan laughed and kissed her.
The Holbein Club accepted her with a hum of delight.
"She is beautiful!" said Jan.
"Beautiful, of course," said Somebody. "Any girl in Kenny's life would be beautiful or she wouldn't be there."
As for Kenny, his path was pleasant, as it always was. If a waving arm was not bidding for his attention, it was a laughing hail or a hearty hand upon his shoulder. His bright dark face sparkled with the zest of popularity.