Phil undoubtedly was scared, although he felt fairly sure, after that first interview in the smithy, that Eileen Pederstone had not recognised him. But he knew he would be running a risk. As he looked at her across the dancing floor, as she sat there in her soft, shimmering silks, her cheeks aglow, her eyes dancing with happiness and her brown curls straying over her forehead––elfish-like rather than humanly robust––he was tempted, sorely tempted indeed.
“Gee, but you’re slow!” went on Jim.
“Oh, go to the devil!” Phil muttered irritably.
But Jim grinned the more; the imp in him uppermost.
“You’ve met her, haven’t you, Phil?”
“Yes,––I spoke to her once only, in the smithy.”
“Well––that’s good enough for a start.”
“Do you think so?”
“Sure thing! Eileen Pederstone turn you down! Man alive,––Eileen wouldn’t have the heart to turn you down if you had a wooden leg. I’ll tell you what! If she turns you down, I’ll ask her for a dance myself; and I never danced in my life.”
The music was starting up. It was a good, old-fashioned waltz. How Phil’s heart beat to the rhythm of 153 it! The men commenced to swarm from the corridors. He took a step forward. Jim pushed him encouragingly from behind with a “Quick, man, before somebody else asks her up!” and he was in the stream and away with the current. He started across, his heart drumming a tattoo on his ribs. Half-way over the floor––and he would have turned back but for the thought of Jim. He kept on, still somewhat indeterminately. When he got near to Miss Pederstone, she looked up almost in surprise, but the smile she bestowed on him was ample repayment for his daring. It was the dancing waters of the Kalamalka Lake under a sunburst.