"The world is looking on!" he admonished her.
Knowing that she danced very well, she now had but one fear—that her partner might make her ridiculous.
But H. R. was the best dancer she had ever honored.
She felt her resolution not to marry him slipping away. He led divinely. She felt that she herself had never danced so well in her life. He brought out the best that was in her.
"Ever try the Rutgers Roll?" he whispered, tensely.
"N-no! she gasped.
"Let yourself go!"
When a woman lets herself go, all is over except the terms of the capitulation. She let herself go desperately, because she was forced to do it; fearfully, because of the appalling possibility of a fiasco.
She did not know how it was done. She had looped the loop and was still dancing away—a new but unutterably graceful undulation of torso and rhythmical leg work and exquisite sinuous motions of the arms and hands.
A storm of applause came to her ears, a hurricane steeped in saccharine. A man who could dance like that was fit to be any girl's husband!