“Allow me?” she lifted her level brows, smiling. “He simply doesn't care for it.”
“And you don't care for it either?”
“Oh, yes, I do, I care for it too much. That's why I'm not dancing.”
“But you are dancing. You've been dancing ever since you came in. I've watched you. Mightn't you just as well be dancing with me, as dancing by yourself?”
She laughed and shook her head, but her foot continued to pat the time, and her eyes followed the swaying couples that swung past.
“What's the Doctor's objection?” Mr. Horton urged.
“He thinks it's undignified for married women to dance, and I guess I do, too, only—” Miss Lady sighed,—“you see, I keep forgetting that I am a married woman!”
“You certainly make other people want to forget it,” then his eyes
dropped before the childlike candor of her gaze. “Come now, Mrs.
Queerington, aren't you taking matrimony a little seriously?”
“Perhaps I am, but I'm new, you know, and I've an awful lot to
learn.”
“Hasn't it ever occurred to you that the Doctor might have something to learn?”
“No,” she said brightly, “he knows everything. I sometimes wish he didn't. I'd be proud if I could teach him even that much!” and she measured off the amount on the tip of her little finger.