“What is it to be, Mr. Willits?” she rejoined in perfunctory tones, glancing at her own blank card hanging to her wrist: he was the last man in the world she wanted to see at this moment.
“The schottische, I think--yes, the schottische,” he replied nervously, noticing her lack of warmth and not understanding the cause.
“Oh, I'm all out of breath--if you don't mind,” she continued evasively; “we'll wait for the next one.” She dared not invite him to sit down, knowing it would make Harry furious--and then again she couldn't stand one discordant note to-night--she was too blissfully happy.
“But the next one is mine,” exclaimed Harry suddenly, examining his own dancing-card. He had not shifted his position a hair's breadth, nor did he intend to--although he had been outwardly polite to the intruder.
“Yes--they'd all be yours, Harry, if you had your way,” this in a thin, dry tone--“but you mustn't forget that Miss Kate's free, white, and twenty-one, and can do as she pleases.”
Harry's lips straightened. He did not like Willits's manner and he was somewhat shocked at his expression; it seemed to smack more of the cabin than of the boudoir--especially the boudoir of a princess like his precious Kate. He noticed, too, that the young man's face was flushed and his utterance unusually rapid, and he knew what had caused it.
“They will be just what Miss Seymour wants them to be, Willits.” The words came in hard, gritting tones through half-closed lips, and the tightening of his throat muscles. This phase of the Rutter blood was dangerous.
Kate was startled. Harry must not lose his self-control. There must be no misunderstandings on this the happiest night of her life.
“Yes,” she said sweetly, with a gracious bend of her head--“but I do want to dance with Mr. Willits, only I don't know which one to give him.”
“Then give me the Virginia reel, Miss Kate, the one that comes just before supper, and we can go all in together--you too, Harry,” Willits insisted eagerly. “See, Miss Kate--your card is still empty,” and he turned toward her the face of the one hanging to her wrist.
“No, never the reel, Kate, that is mine!” burst out Harry determinedly, as a final dismissal to Willits. He lowered his voice, and in a beseeching tone said--“Father's set his heart on our dancing the reel together--please don't give him the reel!”