"Not one. Of course not. What a ridiculous question! I told you nothing should interfere with my enjoyment this evening. Yet, stay"—with a demure and dejected shake of the head: "every now and then I am troubled with a faint regret."
"And it—is—-"
"That all this must some time come to an end. There, is not that a haunting thought?"
I laugh, so does he.
"I shall have plenty of it in the spring," I continue, presently. "'Duke says I shall go to London then."
"And so lose the keen sense of pleasure you now possess. What a mistake! Take my advice, and don't go through a London season."
"What stupid advice. Indeed I shall, and enjoy it too, I am only longing for the time to come round. I shall be dreaming of it from now until then."
"You are bent on rushing wildly to your fate," says he, smiling. "Well, do so, and rue it later on. When you come to look on dancing, not as a good thing in itself, but merely as a means to an end, remember I warned you."
"I will remember nothing," I say, saucily, "except that I am at this moment without a care in the world. Come, let us go in."
Sir Mark hesitates.