Young Mr. J. K. Henderson of New York, having danced repeatedly with
Katherine on Saturday night, unexpectedly turned up for the hop on the
following Wednesday, when he again danced repeatedly with the same
joyous girl. It being somewhat unusual for a keen business man to take
a four hours' journey during an afternoon in the middle of the week,
and, as a consequence, arrive late at his office next morning, Dorothy
began to wonder if a concrete formation, associated with the name of
Prince Ivan Lermontoff of Russia, was strong enough to stand an
energetic assault of this nature, supposing it were to be constantly
repeated. It was after midnight on Wednesday when the two reached the
corner parlor. Dorothy sat in a cane armchair, while Katherine threw
herself into a rocking-chair, laced her fingers behind her head, and
gazed through the open window at the misty infinity beyond.
"Well," sighed Katherine, "this has been the most enjoyable evening I
ever spent!"
"Are you quite sure?" inquired her friend.
"Certainly. Shouldn't I know?"
"He dances well, then?"
"Exquisitely!"
"Better than Jack Lamont?"
"Well, now you mention him I must confess Jack danced very
creditably."
"I didn't know but you might have forgotten the Prince."
"No, I haven't exactly forgotten him, but-- I do think he might have
written to me."
"Oh, that's it, is it? Did he ask your permission to write?"
"Good gracious, no.
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