“Always!” she echoed, and Barnard leaned forward to look more closely at her, but she avoided his direct gaze, and concentrated her attention on the dancers on the floor beneath them.
All Washington apparently was present to aid the pet charity for which the ball was annually given, and men and women in every condition of life were enjoying the entertainment. High government officials, diplomats, leaders of the ultra-smart set, and members of the resident circle vied with each other to make the ball a success. Janet scanned the opposite boxes in which sat beautifully gowned women, whose superb jewels glittered in the rays of the hundreds of electric lights.
“My darling!” She jumped nervously, and held up a protesting hand.
“Hush!” she cautioned. “Don’t forget Mrs. J. Calhoun-Cooper is sitting near us, and she may overhear....”
“Why doesn’t she go away,” muttered Barnard disgustedly. “Lately, I seldom have you to myself. If I was of a suspicious nature, I might think it was intentional”—Janet squirmed in her chair, and after contemplating her a moment in smiling satisfaction, Barnard again inspected Mrs. J. Calhoun-Cooper. “She looks like an Indian begum.”
“Don’t be so unkind in your criticism,” with an effort Janet summoned a careless smile. “Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper’s gown is a creation.”
“Hum! the modiste has left most of the surface to be covered by jewels—cold comfort tonight. Don’t you want your scarf over your shoulders?”
“No, thank you; I am still warm from dancing.” Janet’s eyes again sought the throng below her. “I wonder where Marjorie is—and Duncan. Oh, look, who is the pretty woman dancing with Joe Calhoun-Cooper?”
Barnard glanced in the direction she indicated, and his eyebrows rose suggestively. “No one you are likely to know, lady bird. How fearfully they dance.”
“She is graceful,” declared Janet. “But Joe—nothing could make him so.”