"And where is the young man?" asked Georgy.
"They find him dead on the grass," put in Thorpe, who was standing behind Helen's chair. "It is death to dance with a Wili."
"Both of you seem very experienced young men," remarked Miss Lenox calmly. "Did either of you ever meet with a Wili?"
"I have frequently met them on flowering meads," I returned, laughing, "but when they invite me to dance I tell them I am unable to dance with even the prettiest of live women, I am such a miserable cripple."
"It's rather a pretty story," mused Georgy, "but I don't quite see what it means.—Do you, Helen?"
"It seems to be a sort of warning to young men to keep in o' nights," returned Helen with a droll little air.
"Dead women never trouble me," said Thorpe, "but I have had no end of charming dances with live ones.—Do you waltz, Miss Floyd?"
"Oh yes. Miss Lenox and I waltz together whenever we can get any one to play for us."
"That must be a tame amusement," rejoined Thorpe with an ineffable air of conceit.
"Thanks for the neat compliment," said Georgy, "but neither Miss Floyd nor myself suffer from the tameness."