"You are turning my head," he whispered. "This is like a night out of
Paradise. And to think that we are really in the middle of London!"
"Ah! do not mention London," she begged, "or else I shall begin to think of Sodom and Gomorrah. After all, why need one live for anything else except the present?"
"There is the Comtesse," he reminded her disconsolately.
She sighed.
"How horrid of you!"
"Let us forget her, then," he begged. "We will go into the marquee there and have supper, and afterwards dance again. We'll steal to-night out of the calendar. We'll call it ours and play with it as we please."
She shook her head.
"No," she decided, "you have reminded me of our duty, and you are quite right. You were brought here to talk to the Comtesse. I do not know why, but she is in a curiously impenetrable frame of mind. I tried hard to get her to talk to me, but it was useless; you must see what you can do. Fortunately, she seems to be absolutely delighted to have met you again. You have a dance with her, have you not?"
He drew out his programme reluctantly.
"The next one, too," he sighed.