Meanwhile, all was going on merrily below, dance succeeding dance. The music was good, the floor was good. “Dolff’s men” had fully made up the number of partners necessary, and left a few over to support the doorway lest it should fall. Dolff himself, in the midst of the gay crowd which had been collected to give him pleasure, wandered about distractedly, seeking Janet, but unable to find her, and teasing Gussy, who had certainly enough to worry her without his constant questions, by demands where Janet was. Gussy had plenty of her own affairs on hand. The hours were passing--those hours which she had felt to be so full of fate--and nothing was happening; and her heart was sore with unfulfilled expectations. To think that while her mind was thus torn asunder, while she was almost unconsciously, but with the keenest anxiety, watching for one figure in the crowd, yet carrying on the necessary conversations, listening to what ever nonsense might be said to her, laughing at the smallest jokes, presenting generally the aspect to all around her of a disengaged and cheerful spirit, while suffering an endless torture of suspense--to think that then Dolff should assail her with his questions: “Where is Miss Summerhayes? Have you seen Miss Summerhayes? This is our dance. Where has she disappeared to? What has become of her? Gussy, have you seen Miss Summerhayes?” Gussy tried to push off her brother’s inquiries with trifling answers, but finally found that this last straw of provocation was more than she could bear. “I am not Janet’s keeper,” she said, with angry impatience. “You had better attend to your guests, Dolff, and let Miss Summerhayes look after herself.” “By Jove!” said Dolff, who was almost as exasperated as she, “I knew you were selfish, Gussy, but never so bad as that.” They glared at each other for a moment, both at the end of their patience, distracted, abandoned, left to themselves. It was a kind of relief thus to snarl at each other, to let out their offence and trouble, persuading themselves each that the intolerableness of the other was the cause. But Gussy’s case was by far the harder of the two. Janet had given Dolff no right to resent her absence--but the other--the other! It did poor Gussy good for a moment to be able to be angry with Dolff. When Meredith came to her for the third dance she had given him, the two first of which he had danced conscientiously all through without a word that could not be breathed in the course of the twistings and whirling, Gussy declared she was too tired to dance any more. “Then let us sit it out together,” he said; “there is a nice corner I know where we may be as private as if we were all alone, yet see everybody--if you wish to see everybody. I think it must have been arranged expressly for you and me there are two such comfortable chairs.” “You have put that corner to use before,” said Gussy.