She was still there when Cousin Jim, walking quickly and his shoes creaking loudly, returned. “Hello!” he said. “What're you doing out here?”
“Oh, just watching the moon.”
“You're a funny girl,” he laughed.
“Why am I funny?” Her tone was a little wistful. “Why, moon-gazing instead of dancing, and everything.”
“But I like to dance too,” emphasized Missy, as if to defend herself against a charge.
“I'll take you up on that. Come straight in and dance the next dance with me!”
Missy obeyed. And then she knew that she had met the Dancer of the World. At first she was pleased that her steps fitted his so well, and then she forgot all about steps and just floated along, on invisible gauzy wings, unconscious of her will of direction, of his will of direction. There was nothing in the world but invisible gauzy wings, which were herself and Jim and the music. And they were a part of the music and the music was a part of them. It was divine.
“Say, you can dance!” said Jim admiringly when the music stopped.
“I love to dance.”
“I should say you might! You dance better than any girl I ever danced with!”