“For—well—seeing how the matter stands, it almost seems as if I had presumed—was masquerading. I am only a clerk, and—”
“But you are a clerk in Julius Marston's offices,” she said, with pride, “and that means that you are to be trusted. I require no apology from you, Mr.—er—”
“My name is Ralph Bradish.”
“I dodged away from dullness last evening; I was hoping to have a bit of a frolic. And I found a young gentleman who asked no impertinent questions, who was very gracious, and who was a delight in the dance. It was all very innocent—rather imprudent—but altogether lovely. There!”
“I thank you.”
“And—well, after Nan Burgess's house-party, I—”
She glanced up at him, provocation in her eyes.
“But I don't dare to hope, do I, that you will condescend to come again and dance with me?”
“Julius Marston has taught his daughter to keep her promise, sir. If I remember, I promised.”
He did not reply, for the elevator's grille door clashed open for them to enter.