Reprise by Joan Smith

May I hope to see you there?” he asked, a little less friendly than before.
    “Oh, but we are going with Sir Alfred and Mrs. Hering,” she explained.
    “The whole party will be invited, of course.”
    “In that case, I expect Uncle will be delighted,” she answered with relief that some plan had at last been worked out.
    “Prudence!” he said, shaking his head with a rueful smile. “You know it is not Uncle’s presence I am trying to insure. You will come?”
    All his words, the spontaneous mention of house, the reversion to calling Clarence “Uncle”--all sounded miraculously like a resumption of the prerupture status, and though she had adamantly assured herself all summer she would have none of him, she found her heart beating with wild gratitude. “Of course,” she said.
    A slow smile formed on his lips, and his eyes were happy. She had seen him look so dozens of times, most often just before he kissed her. He didn’t say a word, or have to. She knew what was in his mind.
    Clarence, watching them jealously, figured two minutes was long enough for a swift worker like Nevvie, and returned to the attack. Dammler, in his eager resolve to reinstate himself, told Clarence the plan of the party at once. Clarence was all magnanimity. “We will be sure to go. Don’t worry I’ll let her wiggle out of it. She’ll be there if I have to drag her.”
    “He won’t have to drag you, will he, Prue?” Dammler asked with a warm, intimate smile. She was back to Prue, and the reconciliation was off to a flying start.
    She even dared to make a joke. “I sha’n’t put him to the expense of a team of wild horses. The bays he got for his high perch phaeton wouldn’t be up to it.”
    “Ho, they are up to anything. Sixteen miles an hour,” he exaggerated, remembering the magical number always quoted for a pair of prime goers, though his own sedate team had hardly exceeded six.
    “Well, enough shilly-shallying. Let us get on into the hall and see what sort of a shindig it is,” Elmtree said, rubbing his hands in anticipation. “I see the Castlereaghs are here. She grows an inch wider every week. I’ll speak to him about that new bill he is pushing through.” This was the most arrant nonsense. He had not yet scraped an acquaintance with the foreign minister, and had no more notion what bills were in progress than he had of metaphysics, but he knew what he heard others say, and liked to say the proper things.
    “I’ll see you later then,” Dammler said to Prue. Just as she turned to follow her uncle, who set a hot pace in the pursuit of the mighty, he grabbed her hand. “I believe I overlooked complimenting you on your gown. Very elegant.” He looked pointedly at the amber beads, saying nothing about topaz and diamond necklaces, but his quizzing smile told her what was in his mind, and her confused "Thank you,” let him know she understood.
    Somehow, he didn’t see her later, not at close range in any case. She had as many partners as she wanted, but she didn’t once have the one she wanted. Dammler danced with a great many girls, including Lady Malvern. He twice smiled at herself, and three times looked as though he were heading in her direction, but once another gentleman beat him to the draw, and twice he was waylaid before he made it. When she and her uncle went home, they had not exchanged another word. She could not be sure Dammler’s unusual effervescence at the party had anything to do with herself, but he had been much friendlier than she had expected.
     

Chapter Five
     
    Clarence’s talk over breakfastwas all of Dammler, his being after Prudence again, the post-play party. Mrs. Mallow cast a fearful look on her daughter. She said no words, but the look was enough. Don’t do it! the look said. Don’t get involved with him again, to have your heart broken. “Did you stand up with him?” Wilma asked.
    “No, I didn’t.”
    “That’s good.”
    “He didn’t ask me.”
    “I see. He is just