It must be confessed for Miss Boke that her eyes had been upon William from the moment Mrs. Parcher addressed him.  Nevertheless, as the pair came toward her she looked casually away in an indifferent manner.  And yet this may have been but a seeming unconsciousness, for upon the very instant of William’s halting, and before he had managed to stammer “I got to—­” for the fourth time, Miss Boke sprang to her feet and met Mrs. Parcher more than halfway.

“Oh, Mrs. Parcher!” she called, coming forward.

“I got—­” the panic-stricken William again hastily began.  “I got to—­”

“Oh, Mrs. Parcher,” cried Miss Boke, “I’ve been so worried!  There’s a candle in that Japanese lantern just over your head, and I think it’s going out.”

“I’ll run and get a fresh one in a minute,” said Mrs. Parcher, smiling benevolently and retaining William’s arm with a little difficulty.  “We were just coming to find you.  I’ve brought—­”

“I got to—­I got to find a m—­” William made a last, stricken effort.

“Miss Boke, this is Mr. Baxter,” said Mrs. Parcher, and she added, with what seemed to William hideous garrulity, “He and you both came late, dear, and he hasn’t any dances engaged, either.  So run and dance, and have a nice time together.”

Thereupon this disastrous woman returned to her husband.  Her look was conscientious; she thought she had done something pleasant!

The full horror of his position was revealed to William in the relieved, confident, proprietor’s smile of Miss Boke.  For William lived by a code from which no previous experience had taught him any means of escape.  Mrs. Parcher had made the statement—­so needless and so ruinous—­that he had no engagements; and in his dismay he had been unable to deny this fatal truth; he had been obliged to let it stand.  Henceforth, he was committed absolutely to Miss Boke until either some one else asked her to dance, or (while yet in her close company) William could obtain an engagement with another girl.  The latter alternative presented certain grave difficulties, also contracting William to dance with the other girl before once more obtaining his freedom, but undeniably he regarded it from the first as the more hopeful.

He had to give form to the fatal invitation.  “M’av this dance ’thyou?” he muttered, doggedly.

“Vurry pleased to!” Miss Boke responded, whereupon they walked in silence to the platform, stepped upon its surface, and embraced.

They made a false start.

They made another.

They stood swaying to catch the time; then made another.  After that they tried again, and were saved from a fall only by spasmodic and noticeable contortions.

Miss Boke laughed tolerantly, as if forgiving William for his awkwardness, and his hot heart grew hotter with that injustice.  She was a large, ample girl, weighing more than William (this must be definitely claimed in his behalf), and she had been spending the summer at a lakeside hotel where she had constantly danced “man’s part.”  To paint William’s predicament at a stroke, his partner was a determined rather than a graceful dancer—­and their efforts to attune themselves to each other and to the music were in a fair way to attract general attention.