They weren't through college.
Oh, why hadn't Jack Elliott kept his horrid news to himself?
Mark Warren came up and asked her to dance. Rilla went, knowing Kenneth
didn't care whether she went or stayed. An hour ago on the sand-shore he
had been looking at her as if she were the only being of any importance
in the world. And now she was nobody. His thoughts were full of this
Great Game which was to be played out on bloodstained fields with
empires for stakes--a Game in which womenkind could have no part.
Women, thought Rilla miserably, just had to sit and cry at home. But all
this was foolishness. Kenneth couldn't go--he admitted that himself--
and Walter couldn't--thank goodness for that--and Jem and Jerry would
have more sense. She wouldn't worry--she would enjoy herself. But how
awkward Mark Warren was! How he bungled his steps! Why, for mercy's
sake, did boys try to dance who didn't know the first thing about
dancing; and who had feet as big as boats? There, he had bumped her into
somebody! She would never dance with him again!
She danced with others, though the zest was gone out of the performance
and she had begun to realize that her slippers hurt her badly. Kenneth
seemed to have gone--at least nothing was to be seen of him. Her first
party was spoiled, though it had seemed so beautiful at one time. Her
head ached--her toes burned. And worse was yet to come.
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