The room was being cleared for the dancing, and others near by were expressing their admiration for his wife. Helen seized a moment to whisper to Bruce:
“It rather knocked him. Be careful that he doesn’t run away. George ought to be shot—Heaven knows there’s been enough talk already!”
“The only trouble is that they were a little too good, that’s all,” said Bruce. “That oughtn’t to be a sin—when you remember what amateur shows usually are!”
“It’s not to laugh!” Helen replied. “Shep’s terribly sensitive! He’s not so stupid but he saw that George was enjoying himself making love to Connie.”
“Well, who wouldn’t enjoy it!” Bruce answered.
The dancing had begun when Constance appeared on the floor. She had achieved a triumph and it may have been that she was just a little frightened now that it was over. As she held court near the stage, smilingly receiving congratulations, she waved to Shep across the crowd.
“Was I so very bad?” she asked Bruce. “I was terribly nervous for fear I’d forget my lines.”
“But you didn’t! It was the most enthralling half hour I ever spent. I’m proud to know you!”
“Thank you, Bruce. Do something for me. These people bore me; tell Shep to come and dance with me. Yes—with you afterwards.”
Whether it was kindness or contrition that prompted this request did not matter. It sufficed that Connie gave her first dance to Shep and that they glided over the floor with every appearance of blissful happiness. Whitford was passing about, paying particular attention to the mothers of debutantes, quite as unconcernedly as though he had not given the club its greatest thrill....