And he left us.
“Suppose we dance this. Shall we?” said H. And the next moment we were gliding off. He danced very well. I will say that. But at the time I was too much occupied with hateing him to care about dancing, or anything. But I was compelled by my pride to see things through. We are a very proud Familey and never show our troubles, though our hearts be torn with anguish.
“Think,” he said, when we had got away from the band, “think of our being together like this!”
“It’s not so surprizing, is it? We’ve got to be together if we are dancing.”
“Not that. Do you know, I never knew so long a day as this has been. The thought of meeting you—er—again, and all that.”
“You needn’t rave for my benefit,” I said freesingly. “You know perfectly well that you never saw me before.”
“Barbara! With your dear little Letter in my breast pocket at this moment!”
“I didn’t know men had breast pockets in their evening clothes.”
“Oh well, have it your own way. I’m too happy to quarrel,” he said. “How well you dance—only, let me lead, won’t you? How strange it is to think that we have never danced together before!”
“We must have a talk,” I said desparately. “Can’t we go somwhere, away from the noise?”