Barnard, conversing as he danced, finally observed Pauline and Duncan sitting together. “Your brother had better resign himself to the inevitable; Miss Calhoun-Cooper has her talons on him,” he laughed.
“You don’t know Duncan,” retorted Janet. “He has a will of his own.....” An awkward couple cannonaded heavily against her.... “Ouch!”
“Are you hurt?” questioned Barnard in alarm, as Janet came to an abrupt stop.
“I think that man has lamed me for life,” she groaned. “His heel came down on my instep.”
“The cow; he needs a ten-acre lot to dance in!” Barnard scowled at the receding couple. “Hadn’t you better sit down, Janet?”
“Where?” and she glanced despairingly about.
“Come this way,” pointing to the tea-room, and Janet limped after him to the window recess behind the palms, and settled herself comfortably on the wide cushioned window-seat. “You must be very tired, my dearest,” glancing solicitously at her. “The penalty for being the belle of the ball.”
“You shouldn’t thrust honors upon me,” she laughed.
“There’s nothing too good for you,” he whispered. “No wonder men adore you; you little darling”—she moved uneasily as his arm slipped around her waist. “Why won’t you let me speak to your father?”
“Not yet,” she stammered. “A little more time, Chichester——”