"That couple don't seem to be dancing," Westerfelt remarked, with a
glance at Wambush and Harriet, as he and his partner took a place in
front of the fire.
"No," she answered. "Toot sorter sprained his foot at a log-rollin'
to-day."
"And she won't dance without him, is that it?"
"She would, but none o' the boys won't ask her when Toot's on hand."
"Ah, I see--engaged?"
"No. I reckon not; but Toot sorter lays claim to 'er though."
"And she don't object?"
She looked up and laughed. "It don't look much like it, does it?"
"I don't know; I never saw them together before."
"Oh, I see; well, he's her regular stand-by; he takes 'er to all the
frolics, an' the picnics, an' to meetin'. He lives out at his
father's, a mile or so from town, but he gets meals mighty often at the
hotel."
As the dance began Westerfelt glanced again at Harriet Floyd. He could
not explain the interest he had in her. She was looking straight into
his eyes, as if she had divined that he was talking about her. He was
almost certain that she colored slightly as she glanced on to Mrs.
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