Ah! admitted Kenny twinkling, there you had him. Bohemia, he fancied, was always wherever you yourself were not. The men and women who did big things were too busy for picturesque posing. Bohemia, as legend read it, had to do with rags and dreams and ambition without effort, a shabby, down-at-heel pretension that glittered without gratifying. The Bohemians of to-day were the failures of to-morrow. And the crowd who lived at the Holbein Club lived, loved, worked and died much in the fashion of less gifted folk. If there was a Bohemia of success, however, it danced here to-night.
But, girleen, the music was urging! And who could resist the sweet wild delirium of a violin's call? Certainly not an Irishman intent upon a moonbeam imprisoned in a girl's bright hair. But one sound sweeter!
"And that?" asked Joan as they glided away again among the dancers.
Kenny threw back his head and his eyes laughed.
"A robin singing in a blackthorn!"
Joan smiled at the boyish sparkle of his face. He was so charmingly, so irresponsibly young and gay.
His Bohemia of success she found a startling triumph.
"Joan's horribly disturbed," Ann telephoned in the morning. "As her guardian you'll have to settle a number of infatuated young men. The telephone's been ringing all morning. I think it's a case of 'The line forms on the right, gentlemen, on the right!'"
Kenny faced the problem with his fingers in his hair.
"Who's bothering her?" he demanded bluntly.