Keith awoke from his daze.
"Thank you, but I am afraid I'll have to ask you to excuse me," he said.
"Why?" she inquired simply.
"Because I can't come. I am not much of a dancer."
She looked at him first with surprise and then with amusement.
"Are you a Methodist preacher?"
"No."
"Salvation?"
"No."
"I thought, maybe, you were like Tib Drummond, the Methodist, what's always a-preachin' ag'in' me." She turned to the storekeeper. "What do you think he says? He says he won't come and see me, and he ain't a preacher nor Salvation Army neither. But he will, won't he?"