“As lovely as a crooked thing can be,” laughed Betty. She was looking earnestly at Virginia, and wondering if she really liked Jack Morson so very much. The girl was so bewitching in her red dress, with the flush of a sudden emotion in her face, and the shyness in her downcast eyes.
“Oh, that isn't fair, Virginia,” called Champe from the steps. “Save your favour for the man that deserves it--and look at me.” Virginia did look at him, sending him the same radiant glance.
“But I've many 'lovelies' left,” she said quickly; “it's my favourite word.”
“A most appropriate taste,” faltered Diggs, from his chair beneath the hall clock.
Champe descended the staircase with a bound.
“What do I hear?” he exclaimed. “Has the oyster opened his mouth and brought forth a compliment?”
“Oh, be quiet,” commanded Dan, “I shan't hear Diggs made fun of, and it's time to get back, anyway. Well, loveliest of lovely ladies, you must put on your prettiest frock to-night.”
Virginia's blush deepened. Did she like Dan so very much? thought Betty.
“But you mustn't notice me, please,” she begged, “all the neighbours are coming, and there are so many girls,--the Powells and the Harrisons and the Dulaneys. I am going to wear pink, but you mustn't notice it, you know.”
“That's right,” said Jack Morson, “make him do his duty by the County, and keep your dances for Diggs and me.”
“I've done my duty by you, sir,” was Dan's prompt retort, “so I'll begin to do my pleasure by myself. Now I give you fair warning, Virginia, if you don't save the first reel for me, I'll dance all the rest with Betty.”
“Then it will be a Betty of your own making,” declared Betty over her shoulder, “for this Betty doesn't dance a single step with you to-night, so there, sir.”
“Your punishment be on your own head, rash woman,” said Dan, sternly, as he took up his riding-whip. “I'll dance with Peggy Harrison,” and he went out to Prince Rupert, lifting his hat, as he mounted, to Miss Lydia, who stood at her window above. A moment later they heard his horse's hoofs ringing in the drive, and his voice gayly whistling:--
“They tell me thou'rt the favor'd guest.”
When the others joined him in the turnpike, the four voices took up the air, and sent the pathetic melody fairly dancing across the snow.