"It isn't!" declared Dinah, with abrupt sincerity.
"Oh, you know something about it, do you?" he said. "Then the modern
Daphne ought to have too much sense to run away."
She laughed with a touch of wistfulness. "I wonder how she felt about it afterwards."
"I wonder," he agreed, tipping the ash off his cigarette. "It didn't matter so much to Apollo, you see. He had plenty to choose from."
Dinah's wistfulness vanished in a swift breath of indignation. "Really!" she said.
He looked at her. "Yes, really," he told her, with deliberation. "And he didn't need to run after them either. But, possibly," his gaze softened again, "possibly that was what made him want Daphne the most. Elusiveness is quite a fascinating quality if it isn't carried too far. Still—" he smiled—"I expect he got over it in the end, you know; but in her case I am not quite so sure."
"I don't suppose he did get ever it," maintained Dinah with spirit. "All the rest must have seemed very cheap afterwards."
"Perhaps he was more at home with the cheap variety," he suggested carelessly.
His eyes had wandered to the buzzing throng behind her, and she saw a glint of criticism—or was it merely easy contempt?—dispel the smile with which he had regarded her. His mouth wore a faint but unmistakable sneer.
But in a moment his look returned to her, kindled upon her. "Are you for the ice carnival to-night?" he asked.