A shyness fell upon them. They ate for a moment in silence. After all, they did not know each other very well; and it may have occurred to each that part of the lightness of the conversation was due to a kind of defiance of constraint. Their moods, however, were in harmony; as was testified by the exchanged smile which succeeded the silence.
"Are you a good dancer?" demanded Patricia. Harry laughed again.
"I didn't bring my testimonials," he answered. "Did you?"
"I brought my shoes." She was quite ready for him. "If you're a bad dancer I shall be shocked."
"You needn't worry," said Harry, calmly. "The question is, can you dance?"
Patricia thought: How splendid! How splendid! Her glance was roguish and evasive, so perfect did the understanding between them appear to be. Aloud, she very demurely responded:
"We'd better both hope for the best, hadn't we? It's no good meeting trouble half-way."
iii
They found themselves autobiographical in a very short time. Patricia was made to give a sketch of Uncle Roly and others; and Harry detailed some of the more amusing episodes of his youth. He had been born in the country, it seemed, and had lived in the country until he was sent away to school. Patricia rejoiced. Some of her own early memories were of the country, and with her fancy quickened by the occasion she followed Harry's narrative with what she felt sure he must recognise as perfect understanding. He pictured the district in which he had lived, making little strokes in the tablecloth with his dessert knife in order to give her a rough notion of the scenes amid which he had played.