The affection in her manner impressed Benedicta. It was obvious that Mrs. Wilkinson had a great regard for this boy. His dinner jacket was shabby, his fair hair was a little ruffled, he had none of the sleek elegance of the other guests; and yet his hostess showed him a sort of deference not given to the others.
“It’s his family, of course,” thought Benedicta. “She ought to remember that the Millers were just the same!”
In spite of their mutual interest, the two young people were constrained and silent when Mrs. Wilkinson left them alone. Benedicta knew that she ought to talk and be gracious and entertaining, but she completely lacked practice. Young Dumall made no effort whatever, but sat looking at the dancers in the next room, not enviously or wistfully, but in a calm and thoughtful way.
“Don’t you care for it, either?” he asked suddenly.
That “either” pleased Benedicta. It seemed to place her with Dumall in another and superior world. It made her feel that she really didn’t care for dancing; so she said:
“No.”
“Sometimes I think people have forgotten how to enjoy themselves,” he went on. “They did know long ago, in Greece. They danced out in the sun, and did it beautifully. They were happy, instead of simply being excited.”
Benedicta looked with amazement at his boyish face, but he did not look at her. He was staring ahead of him with a strange, lost look that fascinated her, and was talking earnestly of Greek festivals, now and then using a Greek word.
From the next room Nan caught sight of her, and was impressed.
“Look at Miss Miller!” she said to her partner. “Isn’t she lovely?”