“That couple don’t seem to be dancing,” Westerfelt remarked, with a glance at Wambush and Harriet, as he and his partner took a place in front of the fire.

“No,” she answered.  “Toot sorter sprained his foot at a log-rollin’ to-day.”

“And she won’t dance without him, is that it?”

“She would, but none o’ the boys won’t ask her when Toot’s on hand.”

“Ah, I see—­engaged?”

“No.  I reckon not; but Toot sorter lays claim to ’er though.”

“And she don’t object?”

She looked up and laughed.  “It don’t look much like it, does it?”

“I don’t know; I never saw them together before.”

“Oh, I see; well, he’s her regular stand-by; he takes ’er to all the frolics, an’ the picnics, an’ to meetin’.  He lives out at his father’s, a mile or so from town, but he gets meals mighty often at the hotel.”

As the dance began Westerfelt glanced again at Harriet Floyd.  He could not explain the interest he had in her.  She was looking straight into his eyes, as if she had divined that he was talking about her.  He was almost certain that she colored slightly as she glanced on to Mrs. Bradley.

Mrs. Bradley smiled and moved towards her, between the wall and the flying heels of the revolving circle.  Westerfelt, in turning his “lady on the right,” came near them as Mrs. Bradley was saying: 

“I want you to get acquainted with my Fannin young man, Harriet.  He’s mighty nice.”

At that moment Harriet caught Westerfelt’s eye again, and knew that he had heard the remark.

She nodded, and said, evasively, “You are having a nice dance, Mrs. Bradley; they all seem to be enjoying it very much.”

Westerfelt had not heard her voice before, and he liked it.  He noticed that she did not leave off her final g’s, and that she spoke more clearly and correctly than the others.  He concluded that she must have received a better education than the average young lady in that section.  The dance was nearly ended when Westerfelt saw Wambush bend over and whisper something to her.  She nodded, drew her white shawl round her shoulders, rose, and followed him out through the kitchen.

“Gone to try the moonlight,” remarked the little gossip at Westerfelt’s side, with a knowing smile.

“All promenade!” shouted the fiddler, the dance being over.  The couples went outside.  They passed Wambush and Harriet on the porch, leaning against the banisters in the moonlight.  Her head was covered with her shawl, and her companion was very near her.

“Never mind; we won’t bother you,” called out Sarah Wambush, who, with Nelson Baker, led the promenaders.  “We’re goin’ down the walk; you needn’t run off on our account.”

All the others laughed, and Sarah, thinking she had said something bright, added:  “Harriet’s got a bad cold, an’ Buddy’s sprained his foot; they’re takin’ the’r medicine.”