"Vis-a-vis--fellow opposite. Come ahead!"
Down the long hall swung the gay procession, while the floor vibrated to
the rhythm of the prancing feet. The columns marched and countermarched
and fell into two long lines facing each other. The leader of the
orchestra blew a shrill whistle, and Nance, marking time expectantly,
saw one of the _Dromios_ slip out of his place and into the one facing
her. The next moment the columns flowed together, and she found herself
in his arms, swinging in and out of the gay whirling throng with every
nerve tingling response to the summoning music.
Suddenly a tender pressure made her glance up sharply at the white mask
of her companion.
"Why--why, I thought it was Mr. Monte," she laughed.
"Disappointed?" asked Mac.
"N-no."
"Then why are you stopping?"
Nance could not tell him that in her world a "High Particular" was not to
be trifled with. In her vigil of the night before she had made firm
resolve to do the square thing by Birdie Smelts.
"Where are the others?" she asked in sudden confusion.
"In the supper room probably. Aren't you going to finish this with me?"
"Not me. I'm going to dance with Mr. Monte."
"Has he asked you?"
"No; I'm going to ask him." And she darted away, leaving Mac to follow at
his leisure.
After supper propriety, which up to now had held slack rein on the
carnival spirit, turned her loose. Masks were flung aside, hundreds of
toy balloons were set afloat and tossed from hand to hand, confetti was
showered from the balcony, boisterous song and laughter mingled with the
music.
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