Part 20 (1/2)

”We're quite prepared to adopt you, Surtaine,” said Willard pleasantly.

”Jinny has never ceased to wonder why she heard nothing from you in reply to her note telling of our engagement.”

”Never got it,” said Hal promptly. ”And I've wondered why she dropped me so unaccountably. It's rather luck for me, you know,” he added, smiling, ”to find friends ready-made in a strange town.”

”Oh, you'll make friends enough,” declared Mrs. Willard. ”The present matter is to make acquaintances. Come and dance this dance out with me and then I'll take you about and introduce you. Are you as good a dancer as you used to be?”

Hal was, and something more. And in his hostess he had one of the best partners in Worthington. Cleverly she had judged that the ”Boston” with her, if he were proficient, would be the strongest recommendation to the buds of the place. And, indeed, before they had gone twice about the floor, many curious and interested eyes were turned upon them. Not the least interested were those of Miss Elliot, who privately decided, over a full and overflowing programme, that she would advance her recovery to one dance before the supper announcement.

”You're going to be a social success, Hal,” whispered his partner. ”I feel it. And _where_ did you learn that delightful swing after the dip?”

”Picked it up on s.h.i.+pboard. But I shan't have much time for gayeties.

You see, I've become a workingman.”

”Tell me about it to-morrow. You're to dine with us; quite _en famille_.

You _must_ like Festus, Hal.”

”I should think that would be easy.”

”It is. He is just the finest, cleanest, straightest human being in the world,” she said soberly. ”Now, come away and meet a million people.”

So late was it that most of the girls had no vacancies on their programmes. But Jeannette Willard was both a diplomat and a bit of a despot, socially, and several of the young eligibles relinquished, with surprisingly good grace, so Hal felt, their partners, in favor of the newcomer. He did not then know the tradition of Worthington's best set, that hospitality to a stranger well vouched for should be the common concern of all. Very pleasant and warming he found this atmosphere, after his years abroad, with its happy, well-bred frankness, its open comrades.h.i.+p, and obvious, ”first-name” intimacies. But though every one he met seemed ready to extend to him, as a friend of the Willards, a ready welcome, he could not but feel himself an outsider, and at the conclusion of a dance he drew back into a side pa.s.sage, to watch for a time.

Borne on a draught of air from some invisibly opening door behind him there came to his nostrils the fairy-spice of the arbutus-scent. He turned quickly, and saw her almost at his shoulder, the girl of the l.u.s.trous face. Behind her was Festus Willard.

”Ah, there you are, Surtaine,” he said. ”I've been looking for you to present you to Miss Elliot. Esme, this is Mr. Harrington Surtaine.”

She neither bowed nor moved in acknowledgment of Hal's greeting, but looked at him with still, questioning eyes. The springtide hue of the wild flower at her breast was matched in her cheek. Her head was held high, bringing out the pure and lovely line of chin and throat. To Hal it seemed that he had never seen anything so beautiful and desirable.

”Is it a bet?” Festus Willard's quiet voice was full of amus.e.m.e.nt. ”Have you laid a wager as to which will keep silent longest?”

At this, Hal recovered himself, though stumblingly.

”'Fain would I speak,'” he paraphrased, ”'but that I fear to--to--to--'”

”Stutter,” suggested Willard, with solicitous helpfulness. The girl broke into a little trill of mirth, too liquid for laughter; being rather the sound of a brooklet chuckling musically over its private delectations.

”If I could have a dance with you,” suggested Hal, ”I'm sure it would help my aphasia.”

”I'm afraid,” she began dubiously, ”that--No; here's one just before supper. If you haven't that--”

”No: I haven't,” said Hal hastily. ”It's awfully good of you--and lucky for me.”

”I'll be with Mrs. Willard,” said the girl, nodding him a cheerful farewell.

Just what or who his partners for the next few dances were, Hal could not by any effort recall the next day. He was conscious, on the floor, only of an occasional glimpse of her, a fugitive savor of the wildwood fragrance, and then she had disappeared.

Later, as he returned from a talk with Festus Willard outside, he became aware of the challenge of deep-hued, velvety eyes, regarding him with a somewhat petulant expression, and recognized his acquaintance of the motor car and the railroad terminal.

”You'd forgotten me,” accused Miss Kathleen Pierce, pouting, as he came to greet her.