"If my friends desire it—certainly! Mr. Pemberton"—as that individual frisked by,—"Do me the favor to act as master of ceremonies, and form a set."
"With pleasure, Miss Josephine, provided I am honored by your hand—for the dance—I mean;" tickled to excess by his witty clause.
The hateful puppy! but there was no retreat. Had Mr. Lacy been out of earshot, she would have pleaded an engagement, so certain was she that he would ask her, but she could not utter so palpable a falsehood in his hearing. She did hope that he would interfere, and with the inimitable self-possession which distinguished him, open an avenue of escape by implying, if not asserting his right of priority; but he was silent, and she yielded an ungracious assent. Mr. Pemberton was a boasted adept in the art of "cutting out"—a system of counter-plotting, too well understood to need explanation here; and as he bustled around, officious and fussy, he circulated, as the latest and best joke, an account of his cunning in "heading off that chap, Lacy."
"Are you fond of this amusement?" inquired the latter of Josephine.
"Passionately!" said she, brightening up at this, as she thought, prefatory remark. The next was still more promising.
"You will not stop at a single set then?"
"Oh, no! I often keep the floor for hours. It is a healthful and innocent exercise. I had rather dance than spend the evening in gossiping after the fashion of the strait-laced sort, who are conscientiously opposed to 'wordly follies.'"
Mr. Lacy smiled, a little queerly. It was evident that he agreed with her, in her estimate of these over-scrupulous worthies. Still, the coveted request did not arrive, and she tossed out a desperate feeler.
"You do not think it undignified to dance, do you?"
"Perhaps if I were to state why I never participate in the pastime you laud so warmly, you would accuse me of an unmanly fondness for a dish of scandal."