She glanced back and glimpsed another merry-go-round of couples, fated to be presently resolved into hopelessly mismated pairs. But Rosalind and the man who could truly dance went on and on, down the porch, still in the thrall of the rhythm that was so spirited and compelling.
"Thank you," she said.
He made no answer, save a quick pressure of her fingers. It was this silent acknowledgment of his gratitude that awakened Rosalind. Her fingers had, it is true, been pressed before, when she was taken unaware; but never by a stranger. She now remembered the pedestal she occupied in the world. She glanced upward.
For several seconds her vision remained fixed upon the most extraordinary necktie she had ever seen.
It was filmy and semitransparent. Also, it was ragged, frayed and rumpled. But—and this was its really amazing feature—it was marked with her own exquisitely embroidered monogram!
Her feet halted abruptly. She flung herself backward out of the arms of Sam, the boatman. He was smiling benignly.
"This—this—"
"Has been a great pleasure," he supplied, but the bow that accompanied the words was slightly satirical.
Rosalind stood gasping and angry.
"You dared!"