"Shall we dance?" asked John, and I came to myself in a panic. Dance with
John--there? I hadn't thought of that. Of course I must, but--why, his
step is abominable! It always was!
"As you please," I said with the best grace I could muster, glancing
nervously up at him. He looked well in his new evening clothes, but his
face was set in grim lines of endurance, and I went on with guilty haste
to forestall question or reproach:--
"I hope you waltz better than you used."
"I'm afraid I don't," said he dryly.
And he didn't. I simply couldn't dance with him. He never thought about
what he was doing or where he was going. I looked back despairingly at the
General, grimacing involuntarily as I gathered my skirts from under his
feet; and I had an odd notion that she smiled with malicious satisfaction.
Could she have reckoned upon weaning me from him by a display of his
awkwardness? I felt nettled at both of them.
"Helen," he said abruptly, as we laboured along the crowded floor, "do you
remember our last dance--at the Commencement ball?"
The night of our betrothal! What a time to remind me of it! I had just
seen Ned and Milly join the group we had left; and as they, too, began to
dance, I felt a stab of pain that made me answer angrily--we were barely
escaping collision with another couple:--
"If it's only at Commencement that you care to dance--"
He tightened his grip upon me almost roughly, then took me back to my Aunt
without a word.
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