She seemed conscious of having played well her
part--no mean part, either--in a large performance; one might have
fancied indeed that the splendor and success of the occasion was in some
degree due to her own participation. She was decidedly gay, bright,
sparkling; her father felt that here at last was his daughter almost
pretty.
"Maybe I was," he answered. He threw down the newspaper so as to make it
cover several loose sheets full of figures. "Did you enjoy yourself?"
"I should say I did!" She seated herself on the arm of his
chair; one of her big puffed sleeves almost covered his face.
"Don't think I was a wallflower, either; I wasn't. I went out
on the floor three times. Mr. Brower walked me around once, and Mr.
Bingham waltzed with me once. And so did Truedy. Oh, poppy, he was so
good to me! And he was the only young man there with violet eyes--I
didn't see another one."
Her father gave vent to a low, inarticulate monosyllable; it seemed to
convey little appreciation of his son's eyes.
Jane had met Truesdale for a moment just before she came away. "How's the
handkerchief?" she had asked. "All right," he responded, cheerfully. He
took it folded and crumpled from his coat-pocket and showed it to her. He
had carried it in his trousers pocket until a moment before; but Jane
never knew.
"And I went to supper with Mrs. Bates and Theo--Mr. Brower," she
continued. "And the oldest Bates boy took Rosy. We all went up in the
elevator together and had a table quite to ourselves.
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