"I?"
"Sure, you did! Why you said it was the left one."
"Well, you let me think so anyway."
"How was I to know?" said Skippy, illogically. "Perhaps he has a glass eye. Have you asked him?"
They reached the club house and as the orchestra was already industriously at work, Skippy said playfully,
"All's fair in love and war anyhow! S'pose we dance."
"You don't deserve it," said Dolly, hesitating. She glanced around and as no one else was an immediate prospect, she accorded him her arm. Skippy began to perceive that the burden of conversation would lie with him.
The next dance was a waltz and they waited, the one expectantly, the other in resignation for the usual rush of the stags which invariably accompanied Miss Dolly's conquering arrival. As she was endowed with a lively sense of humor, her irritation had quite departed and Skippy was as blissfully happy in his restoration to favor as the four-footed puppy when reconciliation with the master has followed chastisement. To keep fidelity with human nature, it must likewise be recorded that the practical sense was likewise strong in the young lady, who was fully aware of the value of a bird in the hand to one about to fly the bush. Hickey appeared and came directly towards them. Skippy fell back.
"Hello, Skippy, old top," said Hickey, with accented cordiality. He shook hands with Miss Dolly, who greeted him with the most encouraging of smiles. He complimented her on the bewitching gown which made her prettier than ever, wondered where she had been all this time, shook hands effusively—and passed on. Miss Dolly bit her lip and took hasty survey of the room. The old reliables were all actively engaged, spinning about the room with other partners.
"Oh, I adore this tune," she said suddenly. "Come on, let's waltz."