In her concern, Muriel started suddenly to the right and nearly accomplished the downfall of the offending palm. She had just been summoning her courage to lay before this dazzling creature her greatest conversational gift, the story of the tickling episode. But their latest peril put her tale to flight. Still, she felt that some further effort was required of her.
"Do you often go to parties?" She whispered so softly that he had to ask her to repeat her question.
Repetition emphasized its inanity. She blushed, gulping and trying to control her quavering voice.
"Do you often go to parties?"
"Not very often. These things are a bit slow. I like footer, and riding. I'm going to Winchester next autumn."
"Oh!"
Muriel wondered what mysterious connexion bound Winchester to parties. Winchester, county town of Hampshire. Was that right? Hampshire—Winchester-on-the-Itchen. Muriel had been considered rather good at geography. Places could come real to you. Winchester. Parties. She saw the city, rich with swinging lanterns, while down the lighted streets from every window the tunes of polkas beat and sang.
"One, two, three, four! One, two, three, four!"
The music stopped. In the fairy streets of Winchester, and in the Assembly Rooms of Kingsport there was silence.
Godfrey dropped Muriel's hand and clapped vigorously. He faced life with a genial determination to find every one as pleasant as they so obviously found him. Though he had not exactly enjoyed his dance with Muriel, he smiled down at her kindly. She was a queer little thing, but not bad, though she couldn't dance for nuts.