"I saw you as soon as I arrived," Edgar said; "but you seemed to have partners for each dance. I've been abroad for a month."
"I wish I had been," answered Patricia.
Again the mark of slight change! And a leaping impulse in Edgar to respond that she had but to be constant in such a wish to make him altogether happy.
"It wasn't really very cheerful," he assured her. "I was very lonely."
"But you were doing something the whole time."
"And what have you been doing? Amusing yourself?"
"Trying to. Oh, yes ... I suppose so." Patricia was listless and unresponsive. Her vivacity had died down. He was seeing her in a moment of discouragement. But even as Edgar received this impression, she brightened, and went on: "That man there—" she indicated a medium-sized man of about thirty, who was describing something to a companion and raising his hands with a grace which suggested that he was not English—"That one ... dances better than anybody I've ever met. If I could dance as well as he does I should be happy."
"Is he happy?" asked Edgar. "I thought you looked as though you were happy and as though you danced about as well as anybody could."
She shook her head.
"What did you see abroad?" she demanded.