The Sheik

A dull red crept into the young man's face, and he jerked his head

angrily.

"I got waylaid by Lady Conway--poisonous old woman! She had a great

deal to say on the subject of Miss Mayo and her trip. She ought to be

gagged. I thought she was going on talking all night, so I fairly

bolted in the end. All the same, I agree with her on one point. Why

can't that lazy ass Mayo go with his sister?"

Nobody seemed to be able to give an answer. The band had begun playing,

and the floor was covered with laughing, talking couples.

Sir Aubrey Mayo had moved away, and his sister was left standing with

several men, who waited, programme in hand, but she waved them away

with a little smile and a resolute shake of her head.

"Things seem to be getting a hustle on," said the American.

"Are you going to try your luck?" asked the elder of the two

Englishmen.

The American bit the end off a cigar with a little smile.

"I sure am not. The haughty young lady turned me down as a dancer very

early in our acquaintance. I don't blame her," he added, with a rueful

laugh, "but her extreme candour still rankles. She told me quite

plainly that she had no use for an American who could neither ride nor

dance. I did intimate to her, very gently, that there were a few little

openings in the States for men beside cattle-punching and cabaret

dancing, but she froze me with a look, and I faded away. No, Sir

Egotistical Complacency will be having some bridge later on, which will

suit me much better. He's not a bad chap underneath if you can swallow

his peculiarities, and he's a sportsman. I like to play with him. He

doesn't care a durn if he wins or loses."

"It doesn't matter when you have a banking account the size of his,"

said Arbuthnot. "Personally, I find dancing more amusing and less

expensive. I shall go and take my chance with our hostess."

His eyes turned rather eagerly towards the end of the room where the

girl was standing alone, straight and slim, the light from an

electrolier gilding the thick bright curls framing her beautiful,

haughty little face. She was staring down at the dancers with an absent

expression in her eyes, as if her thoughts were far away from the

crowded ballroom.

The American pushed Arbuthnot forward with a little laugh.

"Run along, foolish moth, and get your poor little wings singed. When

the cruel fair has done trampling on you I'll come right along and mop

up the remains. If, on the other hand, your temerity meets with the

success it deserves, we can celebrate suitably later on." And, linking

his arm in his friend's, he drew him away to the card-room.