The girl looked up at him absently and then, suddenly comprehending that she was acting rather rudely towards this new friend, cried laughing, “Angry with you? Indeed, no! I am angry with—some one,” she added bitterly, her glance suddenly falling on Edith. “But there, return your cards and then we will dance.”
Five minutes later as Fred swung his partner lightly up and down the hall to waltz time, Nathalie forgot all the unpleasant jars of the evening in the enjoyment of the moment. But later, as they hurried out on the veranda for a breath of fresh air, she remembered how rudely she had acted and felt as if she ought to make some kind of an explanation to Fred for her seeming rudeness. Then it suddenly came to her that perhaps he might think she was jealous of Edith. Oh, no, she was not jealous—she was willing Edith should win the highest number of votes, only it did seem a bit hard to have to give all the glory up to some one else, when it rightfully belonged to her, and then Edith had been mean about it.
“Please don’t think I didn’t want Edith to win,” she burst forth as they seated themselves in a cozy corner where she could see the dancers in the hall. “Only—you see it is this way, I—”
But before she could finish, the Tike came rushing up all of a whirl crying, “Oh, Nathalie, your Stunt won! I’m awfully glad!” And she danced up and down in her delight at Nathalie’s success.
“Oh, ‘The First American Wash-Day’ was Edith’s Stunt,” Nathalie hastened to explain, resolved that she would be a martyr to her wounded pride with a good grace.
“That didn’t win the highest vote, but your Stunt did,” retorted Carol jubilantly; “the one with the old Dutchwoman putting the kiddies to bed. And that Dutch lullaby—oh, Nathalie, where did you learn it?”
Before Nathalie could answer Carol had skipped away, leaving the girl with a strange expression on her face as she stared at Fred with mystified eyes. “Do you suppose I really won it?” she demanded after a pause. “I thought you said Edith’s Stunt was the winner.”
“So I heard,” was Fred’s reply. “But then, Miss Nathalie, I am awfully glad your Stunt won. It was a peach, I thought myself, but I heard—”
“Oh, I don’t care about that,” cried Nathalie. There was a quiver to her voice. “I don’t deserve it; oh, I have been awfully mean, and yet I have been calling Edith mean—” She stopped abruptly. How queerly it had turned out!
Catching a rather strange look in her companion’s eyes she exclaimed, “Oh, indeed I was willing that Edith should win—I don’t care a snap about it myself—only, you see it was this way.” She floundered for a moment and then with a sudden catch in her breath leaned towards Fred crying, “If I tell you something, will you swear never to reveal it?” Fred’s face brightened; he was delighted to think Nathalie considered him worthy of her confidence, and lost no time in assuring her of this fact. But the girl was thinking of only one thing, and that was that she was going to break her silence in regard to Edith and unburden herself of what had been causing her a good deal of discomfort all the evening. Nathalie talked rapidly and in a few minutes Fred was in possession of the facts about “The First American Wash-Day,” and how it had come about that although the idea was Nathalie’s, Edith had won the glory of it without the work.