Phil did not answer.
“Are you?” she asked again.
“Jim and I are chums,” he answered.
“Which means–––?”
“‘Birds of a feather–––’”
How long they would have chatted on, Phil had no notion, for the lights, the music, the gliding dancers, the gaiety and the intoxicating presence of Eileen Pederstone had him in their thrall. However, he was interrupted by the stout but agile figure of Graham Brenchfield weaving in and out among the dancers and coming their way.
He stopped up in front of them, giving Phil a careless nod. He held out his bent arm to Miss Pederstone.
“This is ours, I think, Eileen,” he said. “Sorry I was late. Excuse us, Ralston!”
Phil gasped and looked over to Miss Pederstone.
“No, siree!” answered the young lady, quite calmly and naturally. “I have promised this dance to Mr. 156 Ralston, and was just resting a little bit before starting out.”