Part 22 (2/2)

”Can you tell me where I can find Miss Eleanor?” he asked eagerly of Miss Isobel, whom he encountered in the back hall.

Miss Isobel, looking thoroughly uncomfortable in a high-necked, long-sleeved evening dress, sighed anxiously:

”I am looking for her myself. She has had all the windows opened, and mother gave express orders that they were to be kept closed. Would you mind putting this one down? It makes such a draught.”

It was a high window and an obstinate one, and by the time it was down Quin's cuffs were six inches beyond his coat sleeves and his vest was bulging.

”I don't want that window down,” said a spirited voice behind him. ”I wish you had left it alone.”

”Eleanor!” said Miss Isobel reprovingly. ”He is doing it at my request.

It is our young friend Quinby Graham.”

Quin wheeled about in dismay, and found himself face to face with a slender vision in s.h.i.+mmering blue and silver, a vision with flushed cheeks and angry eyes, who looked at him in blank amazement, then burst out laughing.

”Why, for mercy sakes! I never would have known you. You look so--so different in civilian clothes.”

The words were what he had expected, but the intonation was not. It seemed to call for some sort of explanation.

”It's my face,” he blurted out apologetically, drawing attention to the fact that of all others he most wished to ignore. ”Had an abscess in my tooth; it's swelled my jaw up a bit.”

Eleanor was not in the least concerned with his affliction. A civilian with the toothache could not expect the consideration of a hero with a shrapnel wound. Moreover, this was her first appearance in the role of hostess at a large party, and she fluttered about like a distracted humming-bird.

Miss Isobel laid a detaining hand on her bare shoulder.

”Did you know they were smoking in the dining-room, Nellie? Even some of the _girls_ are smoking. If mother finds it out I don't know _what_ she will do!”

”Call out the fire department, probably,” said Eleanor flippantly.

”But listen! She will speak to them--you know she will. Don't you think you can stop them?”

”Of course I can't!” declared Eleanor, her anger rekindling. ”And we can't dance with the windows down, either. Oh, dear, I wish we'd never _tried_ to give a party!”

”May I have the next dance, Miss Eleanor?” Quin ventured at this inopportune moment.

She turned upon him a perturbed face, ”It's taken,” she said absently.

”They are all taken until after supper. I'll give you one then.” And with this casual promise she hurried away.

Quin wandered disconsolately into the hall again. Everybody seemed to know everybody else. Apparently he was the one outsider. At the soldier dances to which he was accustomed, he was used to boldly asking any girl on the floor to dance, sure of a welcoming smile. But here it was different. It seemed that a fellow must wait for an introduction which n.o.body took the trouble to give. He leaned against the door-jamb and indulged in bitter reflections. Much that bunch cared whether he had risked his life for his country or not! The girls had already forgotten which were the heroes and which were the slackers. He didn't care! All he had come for, anyhow, was to see Eleanor Bartlett. Just wait until he got her all to himself in that dance after supper----

Finding the strain of being a spectator instead of a partic.i.p.ant no longer endurable, he wandered upstairs and bathed his face. The pain was getting worse and he had a horrible suspicion that the swelling was increasing. In the men's dressing-room he found a game of c.r.a.ps in progress, and, upon being asked to join, was so grateful for being included in any group that he accepted gladly, and for half an hour forgot his woes while he won enough to repay Ca.s.s the sum he had advanced on the dress-s.h.i.+rt.

”Stud's undone, old chap,” said his opponent as he paid his debt.

”Thanks, so it is,” said Quin nonchalantly.

As he went downstairs he encountered Miss Enid and Mr. Chester sitting under the palms on the landing in intimate tete-a-tete.

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