"They certainly do."
"And you said you would dance with me!" she cries, in despairing accents.
He laughs heartily, and yet it is very sweet to witness her abandon of disappointment.
"My darling, I shall not be too old to dance with you until I am bald and rheumatic and generally shaky," he answers, in a fond tone.
"Then it was because—was it because I was not there?"
"It certainly was"; and he smiles down into the velvety brown eyes. "And it was very base manners, too."
"Oh," with a long, quivering breath, that moves her whole slender body, "how thoughtful you were! And did madame dance much?" she asks, presently. "It must be lovely to see her dance. What did she wear?"
"Violet velvet. Well, the color of some very pale wood violets, such as I used to find hereabouts when I was a lad. Last summer I found another kind."
She considers a moment before she sees the point, and then claps her hands delightedly.
"They are all coming over to call this afternoon, I believe. Isn't there some sort of pretty gown among those things that came from New York?"