“Aren’t you tired?” he asked.
“No—go on!” she answered, without hesitation.
He obeyed, and they continued to dance till many couples stopped to look at them, and see how long they would keep it up. Even the musicians became interested, and went on playing mechanically, their eyes upon the couple. At last they were dancing quite alone. As soon as the young girl saw that she was an object of curiosity, she stopped.
“Come away!” she said quickly. “I didn’t realize that they were all looking at us—it was so nice.”
It was not without a certain degree of vanity that Crowdie at last led her out of the room. He remembered her behaviour to him that morning and on former occasions, and he thought that he had gained a signal success. It was not possible, he thought, that if he were still as repulsive to her as he undoubtedly had been, she should be willing to let him dance with her so long. Dancing meant much to him.
“Shall we sit down somewhere?” he asked, as they got away from the crowd into a room beyond.
“Oh, yes—if there’s a place anywhere. Anything!” She spoke carelessly and absently still.
They found two chairs a little removed from the rest, and sat down side by side.
“Miss Lauderdale,” said Crowdie, after a momentary pause, “I wish you’d let me ask you a question. Will you?”
“If it’s not a rude one,” answered Katharine, indifferently, and scarcely looking at him. “What is it?”