"I shall dance no more before the cotillon," she replied.
"Then sit out another with me," he pleaded—in the certain compelling manner he at times assumed; and which she tolerated because it amused her, and because it was Porshinger who did it—and she was playing a game.
"Here is the conservatory; let us investigate the abode of the flowers," he said.
She hesitated a moment, then permitted him to lead her in. She had seen Gladys Chamberlain just ahead of her.
"How charming! how entrancing!" she exclaimed, as they entered. "A veritable fairyland."
"It is very pretty," Porshinger agreed.
"You don't enthuse. Look how the light falls on the palms and the cactus and the rhododendron, yet you don't see whence it comes."
"It comes from the roof!" he laughed. "Nevertheless, I grant you the fairyland—a maze of flowers and foliage, with you the Fairy, madame."
"The Fairy-madame!" she laughed. "How romantic."