“Well, I don’t know,” said Angelica. “That’s pretty old. She won’t have anything to say to me.”
“She knows something about a horse,” said Livingstone, “though, of course, she can’t ride the way you do. If you find her stupid, I’ll take you away; but I want you to come because she will be very nice to me for bringing you.”
He turned to Caroline. “I’m a friend of Miss Stanton’s brother. Go to your seat, and I’ll bring Miss Stanton back to you.”
Then he led the way up the stairs, and Angelica followed, wondering what sort of person Mrs. “Dicky” Everett might be.
She cheered herself with the thought that she could not be any older or more depressing than Aunt Henrietta, and if she was fond of horses she might know who owned Lady Washington.
Livingstone consulted his program. “It’s down on this side,” he said. She followed him mechanically, with her eyes wandering toward the ring, till presently they stopped.
“Hello!” she heard them call to Livingstone, as he stepped in ahead of her, and the next moment she realized that she was in the very box which she had watched from her seat among the chairs.
“I want to present you to my friend Miss Stanton,” Livingstone said. He repeated the names, but they made no impression upon her, because there, standing in front of her, was the young man who had ridden Lady Washington.
“You seem to know each other,” said Livingstone. “Am I wasting my breath? Is this a joke?”
He looked at Angelica. She was speechless with mixed joy and embarrassment.