American drama -- 19th century; Romance fiction, American; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
That meant nothing to me. The name is not an uncommon one, and I have
taken in my aunts often enough to get accustomed to the occurrence, even
in the family. So, without a second thought of the matter, I passed
through the doorway and discharged my devoirs with Mrs. Baxter.
“I was on the point of suicide, thinking you had failed me,” she said.
“As it is, Mr. and Mrs. Dana have just sent me word that they can’t come
because Milly has croup.”
“My note said half after seven,” I stated boldly. When one is very late
it is always best to put one’s hostess in the wrong, and a mistake more
or less to Mrs. Baxter was immaterial.
“Oh, never!” she declared, so guiltily that I was really sorry for her.
“Well, we can’t discuss it now. We were just going in without you, and
we’ll go on, leaving you to find your partner by the process of
elimination. I haven’t left you Hobson’s choice, however.”
I glanced round, and as the couples had gravitated together, I easily
picked out the only single figure left, and went towards it. She was
turned from me, standing by Ferdie Gallaudet and his partner, who had
not yet moved.
“That back is too young and pretty for Aunt Ellen or Madge,” was my
first thought. My second was a spoken one, and merely consisted of the
trite, “I am to have the pleasure, Miss Cortelyou.”
She was saying something to the girl, and went on saying it, with her
head over her shoulder, even as she rested her hand on my arm and let me
lead her away. And just as I was going to look at her, I caught sight of
Ferdie’s face, and fell to wondering what could ail him that he looked
so queer. We had been close to the door, and before she had finished her
remark, or I had ceased from wondering, we were through it and in the
half-gloom of the hall.
“I beg your pardon,” said she, turning to me, and speaking very sweetly.
“It was a message, and I had only just begun when you came.”
“What a nuisance messages are!” was my remark. “What a nice voice you
have!” was my thought. Then we entered the dining-room, and I glanced at
my partner. It was Kate Cortelyou!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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