"You must learn. Dance!"
"Upon what—nothing? And how shall I know that my dancing pleases you?"
"I agree to tell you. I wear this mask to-night because I am taking a surreptitious leaf out of my book of cares."
"Cares? Have you any?"
"If I were without cares it would not be necessary to seek diversions of this equivocal character." She crossed her arms. The magic of old Venice seemed at that moment to enfold her.
"You are, then, seeking a diversion?"
"Nothing more or less. Do not flatter yourself that there is anything personal or romantic on my side. I am bored."
"I am wholly in your hands," he said; "and they are very beautiful hands."
"Is there anything more beautiful than a cat's paw, when the claws are hidden? Never judge a woman by her hands." Nevertheless she buried her hands in the depths of a down-pillow. She had forgotten her rings. She slipped them off and managed to hide them.
"I promise to remember. Your letters—" he began diffidently. Where the deuce was his tongue? Was he to be tongue-tied all the evening before this Columbine, who, with the aid of her mask, was covertly laughing at his awkwardness?