I can't think how
it is that girls of that sort manage to stir things up so and get all
the men around them."
"Neither can I," said Mrs. Hexter wickedly. "If I did know how, I
believe I'd do it sometimes myself. What is it you want of me, Miss
Sessions? I must run back and see to supper, if you don't need me."
"But I do," fretted Lydia. "I want your help. This waltzing and--and
such things--ought to be stopped."
"All right," rejoined practical Mrs. Hexter. "The quickest way to do it
is to stop the music."
She had meant the speech as a jeer, but literal-minded Lydia Sessions
welcomed its suggestion. Hurrying down the long room, she spoke to the
leader of their small orchestra. The Negro raised to her a brown face
full of astonishment. His fiddle-bow faltered--stopped. He turned to his
two fellows and gave hasty directions. The waltz measure died away, and
a quadrille was announced.
"That was too bad," said Stoddard as they came to a halt; "you were just
getting the step beautifully."
The girl flashed a swift, sweet look up at him. "I do love to dance,"
she breathed.
"John, would you be so kind as to come and help in the supper room,"
Miss Sessions's hasty tones broke in.
She was leaning on Charlie Conroy's arm, and when she departed to hide
Johnnie safely away in the depths of their impromptu kitchen, it left
the two men alone together.
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