“Here we are!” he announced cheerfully. “Had to get a habeas corpus on this ice cream, though. Why, what’s become of Miss Orr? Gone with a handsomer man—eh?”
He stared humorously at the minister.
“Twa’n’t you, dominie; seen’ you’re here. Had any ice cream yet? No harm done, if you have. Seems to be a plenty. Take this, parson, and I’ll replevin another plate for myself and one for Miss Orr. Won’t be gone more’n another hour.”
Fanny, piteously tongue-tied in the presence of the man she loved, glanced up at Wesley Elliot with a timidity she had never before felt in his company. His eyes under close-drawn brows were searching the crowd. Fanny divined that she was not in his thoughts.
“If you are looking for Miss Orr,” she said distinctly, “I think she has gone out in the kitchen. I saw Mrs. Solomon Black beckon to her.”
The minister glanced down at her; his rash impulse of an hour back was already forgotten.
“Don’t you think it’s awfully warm in here?” continued Fanny.
A sudden desperate desire had assailed her; she must—she would compel him to some sort of an explanation.
“It’s a warm evening,” commented the minister. “But why not eat your cream? You’ll find it will cool you off.”
“I—I don’t care much for ice cream,” said Fanny, in a low tremulous voice.