His face was white as death: I think with passion. He stood with his arms folded, never moving throughout the whole quadrille, only looking out straight before him with a fixed stare. A waltz came next, for which they kept their partners. And Sophie Chalk had enjoyed the luck of sitting down all the time. Whilst they were making ready for the second quadrille, Tod went up to her.
“This is our dance, Miss Chalk.”
Well, she had her share of boldness. She looked steadily in his face, assuring him that he was mistaken, and vowing through thick and thin that it was the third dance she had promised him. Whilst she was excusing herself, Bill came up to claim her. Tod put out his strong arm to ward him off.
“Stay a moment, Whitney,” he said, with studied calmness, “let me have an understanding first with Miss Chalk. She can dance with you afterwards if she prefers to do so. Miss Chalk, you know that you promised yourself to me this morning for the second dance. I asked you for the first: you were engaged for that, you said, and would dance the second with me. There could be no mistake, on your side or on mine.”
“Oh, but indeed I understood it to be the third, dear Mr. Todhetley,” said she. “I am dreadfully sorry if it is my fault. I will dance the third with you.”
“I have not asked you for the third. Do as you please. If you throw me over for this second dance, I will never ask you for another again as long as I live.”
Bill Whitney stood by laughing; seeming to treat the whole as a good joke. Sophie Chalk looked at him appealingly.
“And you certainly promised me, Miss Chalk,” he put in. “Todhetley, it is a misunderstanding. You and I had better draw lots.”
Tod bit his lip nearly to bleeding. All the notice he took of Bill’s speech was to turn his back upon him, and address Sophie.
“The decision lies with you alone, Miss Chalk. You have engaged yourself to him and to me: choose between us.”