Just before midnight the Charity Ball, given annually for the benefit of the Children’s Hospital, was at its height. The long ballroom at the New Willard was almost too crowded for comfort, at least so thought the dancing contingent.
“Come on over here out of the crowd, Peggy,” and Dick Tillinghast pointed to one of the deep window recesses. It looked cool and comfortable after the heat of the room, and with a sigh of relief Peggy sank back in its kindly shelter. She was beginning to feel weary, having danced every encore and extra.
“Now, I call this jolly,” went on Dick, fanning her vigorously. “Peggy—you wretch—you have been flirting outrageously with little de Morny all the evening.”
“The Count is very agreeable,” answered Peggy, demurely. “Besides, I was giving him lessons in English.”
Dick snorted. “You may call it what you like; but the Count is in dead earnest.”
“Really, Mr. Tillinghast—” Peggy’s head went up. Dick, seeing the light of combat in her eyes, hastened to interrupt her.
“Now, Peggy—please. You’ve been perfectly beastly to me all the evening; never even saved me a dance, and I had to steal this one.”
“It is customary to ask for them,” frigidly.
“It wasn’t my fault. I was detained at the office, as you know perfectly well. It wasn’t kind, Peggy, indeed it wasn’t.”
Dick’s voice expressed more bitterness than the occasion warranted. Swiftly Peggy’s kind heart relented.