Putting her arm on his, Armitage led Sophie among the dancers. He held her so gently and firmly that she felt as if she were dancing by a will not her own. She and he glided and flew together; they did not talk, and when
the music stopped, Mr. Armitage took her through the doorway into the moonlight with the other couples. They walked to the garden where, the orange trees were in blossom.
"Oh!" Sophie breathed, her arm still on his, and a little giddy.
The earth was steeped in purest radiance; the orange blossoms swam like stars on the dark bushes; their fragrance filled the air.
Sophie held up her face as if to drink. "Isn't it lovely?" she murmured.
A black butterfly with white etchings on his wings hovered over an orange bush they were standing near, as if bewildered by the moonlight and mistaking it for the light of a strange day.
Armitage spread his handkerchief on a wooden seat.
"I thought you'd like it," he said. "Let's sit here—I've put down my handkerchief because there's a dew, although the air seems so dry."
When the music began again Sophie got up.
"Don't let us go in yet," he begged.