“Yes, just as we were entering the house. Have you known Mr. Barclay for a long time?”
“No, I never met him until two nights ago on the train coming to Washington,” replied Norcross, handing Ethel a glass of lemonade and surrendering his empty plate to a servant.
“It was quite a coincidence that you should both be traveling together toward the same house and never realize it until you met there,” commented Ethel. The crush was thinning out, and in the comparative silence, strains of music floated to them from the ballroom, and her foot unconsciously beat time. Norcross caught the direction her eyes were straying, and spoke more quickly than customary.
“You dance, Miss Ogden?”
“With me,” announced Barclay just back of them, and Norcross colored at the curtness of his tone.
“I have promised this dance to Mr. Barclay,” explained Ethel hurriedly, half resentful of Barclay’s air of proprietorship.
“Then will you give me the next?” asked Norcross.
“Surely,” and smiling a gay farewell, Ethel laid her hand on Barclay’s arm and they walked in the direction of the ballroom. Norcross watched them out of sight, then strolled over to the buffet and secured a cup of coffee.
Ethel was one of the best dancers in Washington, and to her delight found Barclay equally proficient. At the end of the dance, when the orchestra played an encore, she agreed with enthusiasm to Barclay’s request that they continue, and Barclay, his eyes seldom straying from his beautiful companion, forgetful of all vexing problems and ignoring prudence, danced as he had seldom danced before.
Ethel’s absorption in the dance made her oblivious of the presence of a tall, burly man who stood by Mrs. Ogden and answered the latter’s remarks in haphazard fashion. Her companion’s inattention was not lost on Mrs. Ogden, and she smiled to herself on catching the direction of his gaze.