“A sort of depression has taken its place,” Judy explained as she swung into step. The floor was like glass and shone with their reflections. She could see Irene sitting next to the circle of light, sipping her ginger ale. There was another girl reflected on the floor beside her. Judy pointed it out to Dale—that golden reflection on the polished floor.
Just then the orchestra struck up a new tune. Soon the soloist joined in, singing the latest popular song:
My own golden girl, there is one, only one,
Who has eyes like the stars and hair like the sun.
In your new yellow gown you’re a dream of delight.
You have danced in my heart on bright slippers tonight ...
“It sounds as if he meant Irene,” Dale whispered. “She’s a ‘golden girl’ tonight.” He glanced again at her reflection as the orchestra played on:
I’ll enthrone you my queen in a circular tower
Where frost may not blight my most delicate flower.
And from this hour on, you belong all to me