When the dance was over, Adams yielded her up. Whiston came to her.
“What was it as you dropped?” Whiston asked.
“I thought it was my handkerchief—I’d taken a stocking by mistake,” she said, detached and muted.
“And he’s got it?”
“Yes.”
“What does he mean by that?”
She lifted her shoulders.
“Are you going to let him keep it?” he asked.
“I don’t let him.”
There was a long pause.