At first he seemed disinclined to accede to her request, but after a few seconds’ pause he started a slow sarabande movement. She listened enraptured till the end.
“Isn’t that sentiment?” she asked.
“No,” he replied curtly.
“Then what is it?”
He ground his teeth savagely.
“Passion,” he snapped.
“And what,” she asked softly—her voice was trembling—“is the difference between sentiment and passion?”
He looked at her searchingly.
“Don’t you know?”
“I may do—I’m not certain.”