"Oh, come around later," said Pat carelessly. She slipped into Scott's arms, whispering:
"Don't let anyone cut in." After a few turns she continued: "Do you know it's ever and ever so long since we've had a dance together."
"It might be a thousand years in its effect on you. You were almost a little girl then and I—what was it you called me?—your wise and guiding friend."
"Aren't you that now? You must always be," she returned quickly. "And for me only. Do you like Cissie, Mr. Scott?"
"Immensely. She's charming."
"Better than me?" challenged Pat.
In the measure of the dance he caught her close to him for a moment and felt the little, excited access of laughter which ran through her body like a tearless sob. "What do you think?" he queried.
Her cheek fluttered against his. "Then that's all right," she breathed.
"You dear!" whispered Scott. He felt himself losing his head; told himself that this was inexcusable foolishness, unfair, unworthy, sterile trifling with evil chance. Yet he lacked the force to draw back.
"Would you mind very much," asked Pat deprecatingly after a pause, "if I renigged on the fifth extra?"