"Oh, you'll get into it. You are the kind that could pick up any step. You make me think of a swallow as it darts round. If it made a mistake no one would know it."
"Oh, I'd rather not;" entreatingly.
"Don't spoil the set."
She rose up and let him lead her out. She had a way of yielding so quickly, when it was right and best, very flattering to a man in love and easily misread.
If dancing had been art instead of nature, something by rote instead of a segment of inner harmony, she could not have succeeded so well. He warded off the few blunders, and at the third change she had another well-bred partner. But she was glad to get back to him. The joy shone in her dangerous eyes.
There were some new dances coming in. One of the girls from New York and her escort waltzed up and down the room in a slow-gliding manner that was the poetry of motion. She was fascinated, enchanted, and she knew she could do it herself.
"We'll try it sometime," Saltonstall said.
Mr. Leverett came in, bringing Anthony Drayton with him. He knew he was late, but he didn't dance, and he had earned five dollars copying that evening. But he must see Cynthia.
"Oh, I thought you would not come!"
Then she had been giving a thought to him out of her happy time!