The sobs increased. It was a warm afternoon, and Miss Carew's exasperation changed to a dull despair.
"Will any kind little girl take William Brown for a partner, and give Mary a rest?"
There was no answer; William was aware of a distinct sense of mortification.
"Well, I don't want any of 'em," he said huffily. "I'll dance slow by myself. I'd sooner dance by myself than with an ole cryin' girl. I'll"——a brilliant idea struck him. "I'll go home, shall I? I shan't mind going home." His cheerfulness grew. "Then she," he indicated his late partner, "can do it quick by herself and give up cryin'. I'll go home. I don't mind goin' home."
"No, you won't," said Miss Carew. "I'll give—I'll give a chocolate to any little girl who will dance with William Brown."
A stout little girl, famed for her over-indulgence in sweets, volunteered. William received her with an air of resigned patience.
"Well, don't cry over me," he said sternly. She was less disposed to suffer in silence than his previous partner.
"He's treading on my toes," she announced in shrill complaint when the dancing was once more in full swing.
The goaded William burst forth. "Her feet are all over the place. I can't keep off them. She moves them about so quick. She puts them just where I'm going to tread on purpose. I don't want to tread on her ole feet. Well, I can't do what you say and not tread on her feet, 'cause when I do my feet, how you say do them, they go on her feet 'cause she's got her feet there first 'cause she's quicker than me an'——"
Miss Carew raised her hand to her brow.