"I was telling Mrs. Dorn you were a bomb-thrower or something," Meredith announced. His good spirits frisked about the table like a troupe of frolicsome puppies.
"Only an apprentice," Tesla's soft voice—a voice like his hands—answered. "But why talk of such things in the presence of a beautiful lady." He bowed his head at her. She thought, "An unbearable man, completely out of place. How in the world could Eddie...."
The music had changed. Muted cornets, banjos and saxophones were wailing out a tom-tom adagio. People were rising from tables and moving toward a dancing space. Eddie stood beside her bowing with elaborate stiffness.
"My next dance, Miss Winthrop."
Anna looked up blankly.
"Good Lord, have you forgotten your own name? Come on. You know Dorn, don't you, Emil? Well, throw a fork at him when he shows up. Come, we haven't danced together for ten years. The last time was...."
"The last time was the senior prom," Anna interrupted quickly. "You see I haven't forgotten." She stood mechanically.
As they walked between tables and diners, he said, "I sure feel like a boy again seeing you."
"I'm afraid I've almost forgotten how to dance, Eddie. My husband doesn't dance much."
"Here we are! Like old days, eh? Remember Jimmie Goodland, my deadly rival for your hand?"