"Why, here is Miss Wynn now."
Bles turned. She was right behind him, the centre of a group. She turned, slowly, and smiled.
"Oh!" she uttered twice, but with difference cadence. Then something like amusement lurked a moment in her eye, and she quietly presented Bles to her friends, while Stillings hovered unnoticed in the offing:
"Miss Jones—Mr. Alwyn of—" she paused a second—"Alabama. Miss Taylor—Mr. Alwyn—and," with a backward curving of her neck, "Mr. Teerswell," and so on. Mr. Teerswell was handsome and indolent, with indecision in his face and a cynical voice. In a moment Bles felt the subtle antagonism of the group. He was an intruder. Mr. Teerswell nodded easily and turned away, continuing his conversation with the ladies.
But Miss Wynn was perverse and interrupted. "I saw you enjoyed the concert, Mr. Alwyn," she said, and one of the young ladies rippled audibly. Bles darkened painfully, realizing that these people must have been just behind him. But he answered frankly:
"Yes, I did immensely—I hope I didn't disturb you; you see, I'm not used to hearing such singing."
Mr. Teerswell, compelled to listen, laughed drily.
"Plantation melodies, I suppose, are more your specialty," he said with a slight cadence.
"Yes," said Bles simply. A slight pause ensued.
Then came the surprise of the evening for Bles Alwyn. Even his inexperienced eye could discern that Miss Wynn was very popular, and that most of the men were rivals for her attentions.