She delivered it reluctantly.
"You have no one down for the next—nor the next."
"I—I—think I'd rather not go."
"Do you mean that? For if you do, I shall go home. I came for nothing else. I have not seen you alone for three days."
"I am sorry."
"Come."
Her jumping fingers closed about her fan, and the sticks creaked; but she followed him.
As they descended the steps he drew her hand through his arm. The garden looked very wild and dark. The stars were burning overhead. Slanting into the heavy perfume of flowers were the pungent odours of a forest fire.
"You look like a pomegranate flower."
"Do you like my frock?"