"Hello, Ralph. Miss McKenzie, your father says
you may dance with me--I hope you have something left?"
The blood sang in her ears, her cheeks burned.
"I haven't anything left--for you--" The emphasis was unmistakable.
[Illustration: "I haven't anything left for you."]
Even then he did not grasp what had happened to him. "Ralph will let
me have one of his--be a good sport, Ralph."
"Well, I like that," Ralph began. Then Jean's crisp voice stopped him.
"I am not going to dance any more--my head aches. I--I shall ask Daddy
to take me--home--"
It was all very young and obvious. Derry gave her a puzzled stare.
Ralph protested. "Oh, look here, Jean. If you think you aren't going
to dance any more with me."
"Well, I'm not. I am going home. Please take me down to Daddy."
It seemed a long time before the blurred good-byes were said, and Jean
was alone with her father in the cozy comfort of the closed car.
"Do you love me, Daddy?"
"My darling, yes."
"May I live with you always--to the end of my days?"
He chuckled. "So that was it? Poor Ralph!"
"You know you are not sorry for him, Daddy.
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