ded in an overwhelming breach of
manners," continued he, severely. "But then, look at it this way--here
we are, each having a good time in our own way. Now it seems to me
that a hostess could ask no more of a guest than that he find his own
entertainment--if he seeks it by ambling out into the garden to weed up
wild onions, why, well and good----"

"You are only trying to dazzle me with a false argument in
self-defense," said Nancy.

"You should be grateful to me for furnishing such a good one, since
you've need of one yourself, ma'am. But if you don't like it, why then
I shall change my mind. As a matter of fact, the idea of dancing has
suddenly appealed to me very strongly--since Providence has at last
provided me with a--well, with a more delightful partner than I should
have dared to hope for. And they are playing a very charming waltz.
Will you dance with me?"

He made a graceful little old-fashioned bow, and offered her his arm.
Then he smiled.

"I--I haven't introduced myself yet. Do you mind? I should have done
it in the beginning, but I couldn't think of any graceful way of
hinting at my name, and it's so horribly clumsy just to say pointblank,
'My name's George Arnold. What's yours?'"

"But there isn't any other way," answered Nancy, a little shyly, but
laughing, too, "unless we both go to Mrs. Porterbridge and ask her to
introduce us. My name is Nancy--Anne Prescott."

"There now--it's perfectly simple, isn't it? I never could understand
why there should be any formal to-do about telling two people each
other's names. Do you know, the very minute you came in--perhaps it
was from the way you looked at those dear old books--I felt as
if--well, as if we ought to be friends. You are fond of them, aren't
you--of books--really fond of them?"

"I love those old, shabby ones. They--they looked so very friendly."

He stole a keen glance at her face, and smiled gently at what it told
him. Then, as she clung to his arm, he guided her dexterously through
the crowd to the dancing floor.

After that first dance the whole evening changed for Nancy. She had
half doubted that her companion would be a good dancer, but in two
moments that doubt was routed. Gliding smoothly, weightlessly as if to
the gentle rhythm of a wave, they circled through the moving swarm of
dancers; Nancy's cheeks flushing like two poppies and her eyes
glistening with the exhilaration of the music. Her timidity had left
her;