Among the last to arrive was Purdy, red with haste, and making a great
thump with his lame leg as he crossed the floor.
"I'm beastly late, Polly. What have you got left for me?"
"Why, really nothing, Purdy. I thought you weren't coming. But you may
put your name down here if you like," and Mary handed him her programme
with her thumb on an empty space: she generally made a point of sitting
out a dance with Purdy that he might not feel neglected; and of late she
had been especially careful not to let him notice any difference in her
treatment of him. But when he gave back the card she found that he had
scribbled his initials in all three blank lines. "Oh, you mustn't do
that. I'm saving those for Richard."
"Our dance, I believe, Mrs. Mahony?" said a deep voice as the band
struck up "The Rat Quadrilles." And, swaying this way and that in her
flounced blue tarletan, Mary rose, put her hand within the proffered
crook, and went off with the Police Magistrate, an elderly greybeard;
went to walk or be teetotumed through the figures of the dance, with the
supremely sane unconcern that she displayed towards all the arts.
"What odd behaviour!" murmured Mrs. Henry, following Purdy's retreating
form with her eyes. "He took no notice of us whatever. And did you see,
Amelia, how he stood and stared after Mary? Quite rudely, I thought."
Here Mrs. Grindle was forced to express an opinion of her own--always a
trial for the nervous little woman.
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