Van Buren swept another deep
curtsey. The music now, very definite as to time. Glide and short
step to the right. Glide and short step to the left. Dancing
school had commenced. Outside were long lines of motors waiting.
The governesses chatted, and sometimes embroidered. Mademoiselle
tatted.
Alton Denslow was generally known as Pink, but the origin of the
name was shrouded in mystery. As "Pink" he had learned to waltz
at the dancing class, at a time when he was more attentive to the
step than to the music that accompanied it. As Pink Denslow he
had played on a scrub team at Harvard, and got two broken ribs for
his trouble, and as Pink he now paid intermittent visits to the
Denslow Bank, between the hunting season in October and polo at
eastern fields and in California. At twenty-three he was still the
boy of the dancing class, very careful at parties to ask his hostess
to dance, and not noticeably upset when she did, having arranged to
be cut in on at the end of the second round.
Pink could not remember when he had not been in love with Lily
Cardew. There had been other girls, of course, times when Lily
seemed far away from Cambridge, and some other fair charmer was
near.
Pages:
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108