"Well, think now!" he went on. "Tell me—how about that?"
"About what?"
"Ah, you know what I mean," young Haight replied, feeling like a little boy, "about what you said at your house that Sunday night. Please tell me; you don't know how much it means to me."
"Oh, there's Delphine at the door!" suddenly exclaimed Turner. "Now, really, I must go down. She doesn't know where to go; she's so stupid!"
"No," he answered, "not until you tell me!" He caught her hand, refusing to let it go.
"Ah, how mean you are to corner me so!" she cried laughing and embarrassed. "Must I—well—I know I shouldn't. O-oh, I just detest you!" Young Haight turned her hand palm upward and kissed the little circle of crumpled flesh that showed where her glove buttoned. Then she tore her hand away and ran downstairs, while he followed more slowly.
On her way back to the dressing-room she met him again, crossing the hall.
"Don't you want to see me home?" she said.
"Do I want to?" shouted young Haight.
"Oh, but I forgot," she cried. "You can't. I won't let you. You have your other dances engaged!"