A coarse chuckle, a half-suppressed snort, assailed William’s scarlet ear, and from the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Joe Bullitt gliding by, suffused; while over Joe’s detested shoulder could be seen the adorable and piquant face of the One girl—­also suffused.

“Doggone it!” William panted.

“Oh, you mustn’t be discouraged with yourself,” said Miss Boke, genially.  “I’ve met lots of Men that had trouble to get started and turned out to be right good dancers, after all.  It seems to me we’re kind of workin’ against each other.  I’ll tell you—­you kind of let me do the guiding and I’ll get you going fine.  Now!  One, two, one, two!  There!”

William ceased to struggle for dominance, and their efforts to “get started” were at once successful.  With a muscular power that was surprising, Miss Boke bore him out into the circling current, swung him round and round, walked him backward half across the platform, then swung him round and round and round again.  For a girl, she “guided” remarkably well; nevertheless, a series of collisions, varying in intensity, marked the path of the pair upon the rather crowded platform.  In such emergencies Miss Boke proved herself deft in swinging William to act as a buffer, and he several times found himself heavily stricken from the rear; anon his face would be pressed suffocatingly into Miss Boke’s hair, without the slightest wish on his part for such intimacy.  He had a helpless feeling, fully warranted by the circumstances.  Also, he soon became aware that Miss Boke’s powerful “guiding” was observed by the public; for, after one collision, more severe than others, a low voice hissed in his ear: 

“She won’t hurt you much, silly Bill.  She’s only in fun!”

This voice belonged to the dancer with whom he had just been in painful contact, Johnnie Watson.  However, Johnnie had whirled far upon another orbit before William found a retort, and then it was a feeble one.

“I wish you’d try a few dances with her!” he whispered, inaudibly, but with unprecedented bitterness, as the masterly arm of his partner just saved him from going over the edge of the platform.  “I bet she’d kill you!”

More than once he tried to assert himself and resume his natural place as guide, but each time he did so he immediately got out of step with his partner, their knees collided embarrassingly, they staggered and walked upon each other’s insteps—­and William was forced to abandon the unequal contest.

“I just love dancing,” said Miss Boke, serenely.  “Don’t you, Mr. Baxter?”

“What?” he gulped.  “Yeh.”

“It’s a beautiful floor for dancing, isn’t it?”

“Yeh.”

“I just love dancing,” Miss Boke thought proper to declare again.  “Don’t you love it, Mr. Baxter?”

This time he considered his enthusiasm to be sufficiently indicated by a nod.  He needed all his breath.