“Oh, yes; it hasn't hurt my dancing.”
With an effort, he looked her in the face. Was this really the same girl who had clung to him, cloyed him with her kisses, her tears, her appeals for love—just a little love? Ah, but she was more desirable, much more desirable than he had remembered! And he said:
“Give me a kiss, little Daphne!”
Daphne Wing did not stir; her white teeth rested on her lower lip; she said:
“Oh, no, thank you! How is Mrs. Fiorsen?”
Fiorsen turned abruptly.
“There is none.”
“Oh, has she divorced you?”
“No. Stop talking of her; stop talking, I say!”
Daphne Wing, still motionless in the centre of her little crowded dressing-room said, in a matter-of-fact voice: