A few congratulate him on
his skill. Johnny's paragon looks after him curiously; certain
elders shake hands with him perplexedly, as if not quite sure of the
professional consistency of his performance. Those charming tide-waiters
on social success, the fair, artfully mingling expectation with
compliment, only extract from him the laughing statement that this
one waltz was the single exception allowed him from the rule of his
professional conduct, and he refers them to his elder critics. A single
face, loutish, looming, and vindictive, stands on among the crowd--the
face of Seth Davis. He had not seen him since he left the school; he had
forgotten his existence; even now he only remembered his successor, Joe
Masters, and he looked curiously around to see if that later suitor of
Cressy's was present. It was not until he reached the door that he began
to think seriously of Seth Davis's jealous face, and was roused to a
singular indignation. "Why hadn't this great fool vented his jealousy on
the openly compromising Masters," he thought.
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