"You do like this better than that heat and glare and noise?" he asked eagerly.
"That depends on my company. I would rather be there with you than here alone."
"Mona, is it really true,—what you said to that man?"
"That I only waltz with my husband? Oh, you silly old boy! Do you really think any other man has put his arm round me since you put yours that night in the dog-cart? Did not you know that you were teaching me what it all meant?"
He put it round her now, roughly, passionately. His next words were laughable, as words spoken in the intensity of feeling so often are.
"Sweetheart," he said, "I am so sorry I cannot dance. I will try to learn when we go back to town."
Mona laughed softly, and raised his hand to her lips.
"That is as you please," she said. "Personally I think your wife is getting too old for that kind of frivolity. Of course she is glad of any excuse for having your arm round her."
"It is a taste that is likely to be abundantly gratified," he said quietly. "Are you cold? Shall we go back to the hotel?"
"Yes, let us go to our own quiet sitting-room. And, please, be quite sure, Ralph, that I don't care for dancing one bit. I used to, when I was a girl, and I did think I should love to have a waltz with you: but, as you say, this is a thousand times better."