“Now I know you’re trying to think of a pretty allusion. Do get a good one.”
“Yes, I will. You dance like,—why, very much like I do! We’re both ripping good dancers.”
Patty laughed out at this. “It is a compliment,” she said, “though not just the sort I expected.”
“Girls expect so much now-a-days. There, the music’s stopped! Must I take you back to Lady Kitty, or will you give me the next dance?”
“Take me back, please. But later on, if you care for another dance, you may come back,—if you like.”
“I do like. I think you were made for men to come back to. Ah, Lady Hamilton, here is your fair charge. Not a frill missing of the original hundred, which speaks well for my guardianship, as many of the ladies are ruefully regarding tattered chiffons, so crowded is the dancing floor.”
“Will you trust yourself to me, then?” said another voice, and Patty turned to see Peter Homer smiling at her.
“Yes, Mr. Homer,” she said, “as soon as I get my programme again. Mr. Austin has it. Oh, here it is. Yes, you may have this one.”
And rosy with the fun of it all, Patty put her hand on Mr. Homer’s arm and walked away.
But he led her away from the dancers to an adjoining room, where there were fewer people, less light, and no music.