“Not just yet; the next is mine.” And with audacity that amazed himself Roderick advanced to Gail, bowed, and offered his arm. The soft strains of a dreamy waltz had just begun.
Without a word she accepted his invitation, and together they floated away among the maze of dancers.
“Well, that’s going some,” murmured Whitley, as he glanced around in quest of consolation. Dorothy Shields appeared to be monopolized by Grant Jones, but the two lawyers, Eragdon and Carlisle, were glowering at each other, as if in defiance as to which should carry off Barbara. So Whitley solved the problem by sailing in and appropriating her for himself. He was happy, she seemed pleased, and the rivals, turning away from each other, had the cold consolation that neither had profited by the other’s momentary hesitation.
After the first few rounds Roderick opened a conversation with his partner. He felicitated her upon her playing and singing. She thanked him and said: “Most heartily can I return the compliment.” He bowed his acknowledgment.
“You must come to Conchshell ranch and call on my father. He will be glad to meet you—has been an invalid all the winter, but I’m thankful he is better now.”
“I’ll be honored and delighted to make his acquaintance,” replied Roderick.
“Then perhaps we can have some more singing together,” she went on.
“Which will be a great pleasure to me,” he interjected fervently.
“And to me,” she said, smiling.
Whether listening or speaking there was something infinitely charming about Gail Holden. When conversing her beautiful teeth reminded one of a cupid’s mouth full of pearls.