"I hate dancing in August," she said flatly.
"I'm sorry. Besides, one must do something down here."
"One can, if one wants to. I don't. There's no sense in coming to this kind of a place, just to put on one's best clothes and dance all night in a stuffy room."
"You might take Lear's method," he suggested;
"'And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon.'"
For one instant, Phebe relaxed her severity.
"Do you like Lear, too?" she asked.
"Of course. What sensible person doesn't?" He stretched himself out at full length, resting his head on his hand, and, for the moment, Phebe, as she looked at him, felt that he was almost handsome enough to atone for his lack of energy. "But you haven't accepted my invitation," he added persuasively.
"I know it."
"Please do."