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.
"Is n'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 did n'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.