“I have a very good mind not to dance with you now.”
She was conducted promptly to an antechamber, where there were refreshments spread. “An excellent mind,” said Sir Anthony. “I was never a good dancer. A glass of ratafie?”
She laughed. “It’s too bad of you, Tony!”
“My dear, it would be worse if I stood up with you, I assure you. My forte lies in fetching food and drink for my partners.”
She sat down, perforce. “Well, a little ratafie, then. I do not intend to go near Aunt again all the evening. She may scold as much as she likes afterwards.”
Sir Anthony poured two glasses of wine. “She’s absorbed in euchre, child; you need have no fear. I drink to your very good health.”
Letty sipped at the wine, and dimpled haughtily. “You might drink to my eyes, Tony.”
“No doubt I might,” he said, but showed no disposition to do so.
Letty looked meditatively up at him. “I wonder whether you will ever say pretty things?” she said, aggrieved.
“Not to you, minx.”