When Isabelle came to a place wide enough to turn she retraced her steps. She went back to the inn determined to discover who Mr. Cartel’s special companion was. The groom furnished it, for a price:
“Mrs. Andrews was with him, Miss. She mostly is.”
Saturday night was the weekly hop, the most festive occasion of the week. Max had given Isabelle orders that she could not sit up for dances, as she was still a schoolgirl. The girl made no protest.
“Hops don’t interest me,” she said, indifferently.
After dinner she took a few turns on the piazza with Wally before she went to bed. She wore an odd, white crêpe frock, which hung very close. Her hair was bound round her head like a cap.
“Let’s sneak in and have the first dance together,” said Wally; “Max has a beau.”
“All right; then I’ll skip,” agreed Isabelle.
With the first strains of music they swung into a waltz. They danced well, and enjoyed it.
“Go to bed,” ordered Max as she passed them.
Isabelle saw Mr. Cartel idly glance in, then at sight of her he came to the door and watched them.