“The corn-stalk prance!  What in the world is that?  Are you crazy?”

“I’ll teach it to you,” and he led her out into the wide hall, which had been all the evening the most attractive spot in the house.  He pulled two stalks from one of the sheaves which stood on each side of the great fireplace.  He handed her one, and throwing the other across his shoulder as if it were a gun, marched to the drawing-room door.  The musicians were just putting away their instruments, having played till the last guests were out of hearing.

“Just one more, will you?” he asked, grinning at them in a way which they understood meant an extra fee.

Then he came back to Sally.  “Now for it!” he said.  “I never did this myself,—­nor heard of it—­but if we can’t do an impromptu turn to-night, on our high spirits, we never can again.  Come on!”—­as the music burst forth.  And he made her an impressive bow.

Smiling, and ready enough to follow his lead, Sally returned him a sweeping courtesy, in minuet style.

“Hi, what’s this?” cried Bob, returning from the porch, where he, with the others, had been watching the departure of the procession of carriages and automobiles which had borne the guests away.

“Here, come and see what’s going on!” he shouted back to the porch, and they came hurrying in.  Mrs. Burnside and Donald Ferry, Josephine and Max, Mrs. Ferry and Alec and Uncle Timothy ranged themselves along the walls, their faces all enjoyment of the somewhat remarkable affair now in progress.

Jarvis and Sally might have been improvising, there was no doubt that they were, but the result was the product of inspiration.  Up and down, double and single, in and out, round and round, with all manner of fancy steps, both surprising and picturesque, saluting each other every now and then with bows, with wavings of the corn-stalks, with gestures of greeting and farewell.

Jarvis, without his glasses, his face brilliant with life and merriment, looked a different fellow from the one his friends had been accustomed to see of late; and Sally, her cheeks like crimson carnations, her eyes dark with fun and happiness, her steps the embodiment of youthful grace, was a fascinating figure to watch.

“Isn’t that the prettiest thing you ever saw?” asked Josephine of Donald Ferry, as he stood beside her with folded arms.

He nodded.

“I suppose they’re making it up as they go along,” he said, “but it’s very clever and charming.  I didn’t know your brother had it in him to be so gay.”

“Oh, he has.  It’s this long bother with his eyes that has made him look like an owl, and feel like one.  He has plenty of fun and energy in him when it gets a chance.”

“I’m beginning to find him out.  I like a chap who can relax like that, and show the boyish side of himself now and then.”

“And isn’t Sally perfectly dear?  I never saw her look prettier than to-night,” declared Josephine, with an unconscious glance from Sally’s white frock, which she knew was an old and much mended one, down at her own pale blue gown, just home from an expensive shop.  She was thinking that if she looked half as well in her fine things as Sally in her simple old ones, she should be quite content.