<h2><SPAN name="page214"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>XXV.</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">The</span> weeks went, and the time neared
when dancing at the Institute would end for the
season—would end with a bang and a dazzle in a “long
night,” when dancing would be kept up shamelessly till
something nearer one o’clock than twelve. Johnny
counted, first the weeks, then the days, and last the
hours. Not because of the dancing, although that was
amusing, but because he was to take Nora Sansom with his double
ticket. For herself, she may have counted days and hours,
or may not; but true it was that she sat up late on several
nights, with nun’s veiling and ribbons, making a dress for
the occasion—the first fine frock that had been hers.
And every night she hid it carefully.</p>
<p>Each dressmaking-class night of late it had been
Johnny’s privilege to guard her home-going to the end of
that second street—never farther. Twice she had come
to dancing, and by that small practice was already Johnny’s
superior at the exercise; for a big-shouldered novice of eleven
stone two is a slower pupil than any girl of eighteen in the
world. And they were very welcome one to the other, and
acquaintance bettered day <SPAN name="page215"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>by day. Once Johnny ventured a
question about the adventure of the morning, now more than three
years ago, but learned little from Miss Sansom’s
answer. The lady who was ill was her relation, she said,
and she found her; and then she talked of something else.</p>
<p>And so till the evening before the “long
night.” It was the rule at the Institute to honour
the long night with gloves and white ties, by way of compromise
with evening dress; and Johnny bought his gloves with discretion
and selected his tie with care. Then he went to the
Institute, took a turn or two at the bars, climbed up the rope,
and gave another member a lesson with the gloves. Thus
refreshed, he dressed himself in his walking clothes, making sure
that the tie and the gloves were safe in his pocket, and set out
for home. There was no dressmaking class that night, so
that he need not wait. But outside and plainly waiting for
him, was Nora Sansom herself. Johnny thought she had been
crying: as in fact she had.</p>
<p>“Oh, Mr. May,” she said. “I’m
very sorry, but—I thought you might be here,
and—and—I’m afraid I shan’t be able to
come to-morrow!”</p>
<p>“Not come! But—but why?”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry—I’m very sorry, Mr. May;
but I can’t tell you—really.”</p>
<p>There was a quiver of the lip, and her voice was a little
uneven, as though there were danger of more tears. <SPAN name="page216"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>But Johnny
was not disappointed merely; he was also angry, and it was hard
to conceal the fact. So he said nothing, but turned and
walked a few steps by her side.</p>
<p>“I—hope you won’t mind,” she pursued,
uneasy at his silence. “I’m very much
disappointed—very much indeed.” And it was
plain that she was. “But there’ll be a good
many there. And you’ll have plenty of
partners.” This last she found a hard thing to
say.</p>
<p>“I don’t care how many’ll be there,”
Johnny replied. “I shan’t go.”</p>
<p>It was said curtly, almost angrily, but Nora Sansom heard it
with an odd little tremor of pleasure. Though she merely
said, “But why not? There’s no reason why you
should be disappointed too.”</p>
<p>“Anyhow, I’m not going,” he said; and after
a pause added: “Perhaps you might ha’ gone if I
hadn’t asked you!”</p>
<p>“Oh, I shouldn’t!” she answered, with tears
in eyes and voice. “You know I shouldn’t!
I never go anywhere!”</p>
<p>Johnny instantly felt himself a brute. “No,”
he said. “I know you don’t. I
didn’t mean anything unkind. But I won’t
go.”</p>
<p>“Do you really mean it?”</p>
<p>“Of course. I’m not going without
you.” He might have said something more, but a little
group of people <SPAN name="page217"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
217</span>came straggling past. And the girl, with her eyes
on this group, said the first thing that came to her tongue.</p>
<p>“Where will you go then?”</p>
<p>“Oh anywhere. I don’t know. Walk
about, perhaps.”</p>
<p>She looked shyly up in his face, and down again.
“<i>I</i> might go for a walk,” she said.</p>
<p>Johnny’s heart gave a great beat.
“Alone?” he asked.</p>
<p>“I don’t know. Perhaps.”</p>
<p>But she would be questioned into nothing definite.
<i>If</i> she took a walk, she <i>might</i> go in such and such a
direction, passing this or that place at seven o’clock, or
half-past. That was all. And now she must hurry away,
for she had already been too long.</p>
<p>What mattered the dance to Johnny now? A fig for the
dance. Let them dance that liked, and let them dance the
floor through if it pleased them. But how was it that Nora
Sansom could take a walk to-morrow evening, yet could not come to
the Institute? That was difficult to understand.
Still, hang the dance!</p>
<p>For Nora it would be harder to speak. Howbeit indeed the
destruction of the looked-for evening’s gladness, in her
first fine frock, had been a bitter thing. <SPAN name="page218"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>But that
day her hiding-place had been discovered, and now the dress that
had cost such thoughtful design and such hopeful labour was
lying, rolled and ticketed, on a pawnbroker’s shelf.</p>
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