"Does he have funny wrinkles at the corners of them when he laughs?" asked Bill.
"That's exactly what he has!" she exclaimed. "How beautifully you describe. Are you a detective? They have them at parties, you know."
"No, I'm not a detective. I—er—just happen to know him, I think."
Bill wiped his forehead with a handkerchief and stared straight ahead.
"Where did you meet him?" he asked, after a pause.
"Oh, down-stairs. You can meet anybody at a party, you know. It's perfectly all right. If people weren't perfectly all right they wouldn't be invited. He dances beautifully."
"You mean to say——"
"Twice. We danced out in the conservatory. It seems he's bashful; he wouldn't go into the big room for fear he'd bump me into people or step on their feet. He isn't sure of himself. But I don't see why, because he dances excruciatingly well. But he wouldn't believe I was engaged, so I had to run away from him."
"I don't quite get that."