"Poor Bessy!" she laughed softly, "she vows she'll never waltz with you again."
"She's perfectly safe to vow it."
"Oh, yes, I remember, and I hope you won't dance any more. Do you know, I like you better out-of-doors."
"Out-of-doors?"
"Well, the broomsedge is becoming to you. It seems your natural background somehow. Now it makes George Bolingbroke look frivolous."
"His natural background is the ballroom, and I'm not sure he hasn't the best of it. I can't live always in the broomsedge."
"Oh, it isn't only the broomsedge, though that goes admirably with your hair—it's the bigness, the space, the simplicity. You take up too much room among lamps and palms, you trip on a waxed floor, and down goes poor Bessy. But out here you are natural and at home. The sky sets off your head—and it's really very fine if you only knew it. Out here, with me, you are in your native element."
"Is that because you are my native element? Can you imagine poor Bessy fitting into the picture?"
"To tell the truth I can't imagine poor Bessy fitting you at all. Her native element is pink tarlatan."
"And yours?" I demanded.