ne more than another, would be quite impossible she tells herself. Why is it then that suddenly as she catches sight of a certain brown head in the doorway, she smiles, and when the owner comes towards her feels just a little thrill of pleasure.
Ah! Miss Seaton let me warn you, don't pretend to care for none of them, for that thrill does not come without some cause, and almost before you are aware of it, you will find that your heart is not your own, you know quite well that Jimmy Dalrymple has found favour in your eyes, and you know too, that with very little trouble you could bewitch him. Do not play with edged tools.
Lippa waltzes off with him through the crowded room and just a little sigh escapes her as the music stops.
'Where would you like to go to?' asks he. 'To supper or the garden?'
'Oh, the garden,' says Miss Seaton, 'fancy naming them together. Supper is such a very prosaic affair,' and then as they enter the garden, 'One could almost imagine oneself miles away