"Hadn't thought of it," Hart answered. "What is it?"
"Oh; just a dance," said Bliss, taking a seat on a window-sill and drumming with his fingers on the glass. "You had better come. Lots of pretty girls. Care much for dancing?"
"Not much," replied Hart. "I can stumble through a quadrille, if some one calls off the figures."
Bliss smiled.
"I've got my sister's card here," he went on; "you know we fill them out in advance. Would like to put you down for something. We don't have a senior function every year."
He shoved a little card on Hart's desk. The latter blushed.
"I don't know that I would be much of a success," he said, looking at the array of waltzes and two-steps mostly filled with the names of upper-class men.
"There's a lancers," said Bliss, pointing out one of the few remaining blanks with his finger. "Put your sig down there."
"You will have to explain," said Hart, as he did so, "that I aint much of a dancer."
"Well, if you don't want to, you can sit it
