His tone was urgent, and when she turned to look at him she saw that his face was strained and very determined. The expression in his eyes puzzled her.
“Of course,” she said, “I should feel a little hurt if you didn’t.”
“Look here!” he said in an undertone. “Come out of this. I don’t want you to give away any more—not at present. I’m going to have the supper dance, and everything after that. Is it a promise?”
“Well,” she said, and looked somewhat doubtful. “That means that you are booked for the entire half of my programme.”
He nodded.
“That’s it,” he said.
“But,”—she was beginning, when he took hold of her arm and led her outside, with a muttered reference to the stifling heat.
“Come and sit under the trees,” he said. “I want to watch the set on the far court.”
It was one of the less interesting sets, and there were fewer spectators, which was probably why he decided for it. He conducted her to an unoccupied seat and sat down beside her.
“It’s jolly here and cool and out of the crush. You don’t want to watch the Johannesburg chap, do you?”