She drew a quick, eager breath. "Oh, I do want to come! But I don't know—yet—if I shall be allowed."
"Why ask?" he questioned.
She hesitated, then ingenuously she told him her difficulty. "I got into trouble last night for dancing so late with you. And—and—I may be sent to bed early to make up for it."
He frowned. "Do you mean to say you'd go?"
She coloured vividly. "I'm only nineteen, and I have to do as I'm told."
"Heavens above!" he said. "You belong to the generation before the last evidently. No girl ever does as she is told now-a-days. It isn't the thing."
"I do," whispered Dinah, in dire confusion. "At least—generally."
"And what happens if you don't?" he queried. "Do they whip you and put you to bed?"
She clenched her hands hard. "Don't!" she said. "You're only joking, I know. But—I hate it!"
His manner changed in a moment, became half-quizzical, half-caressing. "Poor little brown elf, what a shame! Well, come if you can! I shall look out for you. I may have something to show you."