"We can get a couple of dances in before we eat," Mary proposed.
"An' then it'll be afternoon an' all the fellows 'll be here.
Most of them are pinchers--that's why they don't come early, so
as to get out of taking the girls to dinner. But Bert's free with
his money, an' so is Billy. If we can beat the other girls to it,
they'll take us to the restaurant. Come on, hurry, Saxon."

There were few couples on the floor when they arrived at the
pavilion, and the two girls essayed the first waltz together.

"There's Bert now," Saxon whispered, as they came around the
second time.

"Don't take any notice of them," Mary whispered back. "We'll just
keep on goin'. They needn't think we're chasin' after them."

But Saxon noted the heightened color in the other's cheek, and
felt her quicker breathing.

"Did you see that other one?" Mary asked, as she backed Saxon in
a long slide across the far end of the pavilion. "That was Billy
Roberts. Bert said he'd come. He'll take you to dinner, and
Bert'll take me. It's goin' to be a swell day, you'll see. My! I
only wish the music'll hold out till we can get back to the other
end."

Down the floor they danced, on man-trapping and dinner-getting
intent, two fresh young things that undeniably danced well and
that were delightfully surprised when the music stranded them
perilously near to their desire.