“Yes, I do!” cried Mrs. Van Reypen, so emphatically that Patty jumped. “I love to see dancing! If you can do it, which I doubt, I wish you would dance for me. And this evening we’ll go to see that new dancer that the town is wild over. If you really can dance, you’ll appreciate it as I do. To me dancing is a fine art, and should be considered so—but it rarely is. Do you require music?”
“Of course, I prefer it, but I can dance without.”
“We’ll try it without, first; then, if I wish to, I’ll ask Delia, my parlour-maid, to play for you. She plays fairly well. Or, if it suits me, I may play myself.”
Patty made no response to these suggestions, but followed Mrs. Van Reypen to the great drawing-room, at one end of which was a grand piano.
“Try it without music, first,” was the order, and Patty walked to the other end of the long room, while Mrs. Van Reypen seated herself on a sofa. Serenely conscious of her proficiency in the art, Patty felt no embarrassment, and, swaying gently, as if listening to rhythm, she began a pretty little fancy dance that she had learned some years ago.
She danced beautifully, and she loved to dance, so she made a most effective picture, as she pirouetted back and forth, or from side to side of the long room.
“Beautiful!” said Mrs. Van Reypen, as Patty paused in front of her and bowed. “You are a charming dancer. I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed anything so much. Are you tired? Will you dance again?”
“I’m not at all tired,” said Patty. “I like to dance, and I’m very glad it pleases you.”
“Can you do a minuet?” asked the old lady, after Patty had finished another dance, a gay little Spanish fandango.
“Yes; but I like music for that.”