But they did not “get right by and by”; for Tom, in his frantic efforts to do his duty, nearly annihilated poor Polly. He tramped, he bobbed, he skated, he twirled her to the right, dragged her to the left, backed her up against people and furniture, trod on her feet, rumpled her dress, and made a spectacle of himself generally. Polly was much disturbed; but as everyone else was flying about also, she bore it as long as she could, knowing that Tom had made a martyr of himself, and feeling grateful to him for the sacrifice.

“Oh, do stop now; this is dreadful!” cried Polly, breathlessly, after a few wild turns.

“Isn’t it?” said Tom, wiping his red face with such an air of intense relief, that Polly had not the heart to scold him, but said, “Thank you,” and dropped into a chair exhausted.

“I know I’ve made a guy of myself; but Fan insisted on it, for fear you’d be offended if I didn’t go the first dance with you,” said Tom, remorsefully, watching Polly as she settled the bow of her crushed sash, which Tom had used as a sort of handle by which to turn and twist her; “I can do the Lancers tip-top; but you won’t ever want to dance with me any more,” he added, as he began to fan her so violently that her hair flew about as if in a gale of wind.

“Yes, I will. I’d like to; and you shall put your name down here on the sticks of my fan. That’s the way, Trix says, when you don’t have a ball-book.”

Looking much gratified, Tom produced the stump of a lead-pencil, and wrote his name with a flourish, saying, as he gave it back,—

“Now I’m going to get Sherry, or some of the fellows that do the redowa well, so you can have a real good go before the music stops.”

Off went Tom; but before he could catch any eligible partner, Polly was provided with the best dancer in the room. Mr. Sydney had seen and heard the whole thing; and though he had laughed quietly, he liked honest Tom and good-natured Polly all the better for their simplicity. Polly’s foot was keeping time to the lively music, and her eyes were fixed wistfully on the smoothly gliding couples before her, when Mr. Sydney came to her, saying, in the pleasant, yet respectful way she liked so much,—

“Miss Polly, can you give me a turn?”

“Oh, yes; I’m dying for another.” And Polly jumped up, with both hands out, and such a grateful face, that Mr. Sydney resolved she should have as many turns as she liked.

This time all went well; and Tom, returning from an unsuccessful search, was amazed to behold Polly circling gracefully about the room, guided by a most accomplished partner.

“Ah, that’s something like,” he thought, as he watched the bronze boots retreating and advancing in perfect time to the music. “Don’t see how Sydney does the steering so well; but it must be fun; and, by Jupiter! I’ll learn it!” added Shaw, Jnr., with an emphatic gesture which burst the last button off his gloves.

Polly enjoyed herself till the music stopped; and before she had time to thank Mr. Sydney as warmly as she wished, Tom came up to say, with his most lordly air,—

“You dance splendidly, Polly. Now you just show me anyone you like the looks of, and I’ll get him for you, no matter who he is.”

“I don’t want any of the gentlemen; they are so stiff, and don’t care to dance with me; but I like those boys over there, and I’ll dance with any of them if they are willing,” said Polly, after a survey.

“I’ll trot out the whole lot.” And Tom gladly brought up his friends, who all admired Polly immensely, and were proud to be chosen instead of the “big fellows”.