"Yes; it does feel different from anything else. Of course, I shan't dance; but then people may ask me to—to sit out."
"May? I wonder who won't ask you!"
Nance's eyes spoke volumes, as they travelled from her sister's face to the long lines of her soft black dress.
Arrested by the look, Clodagh spoke again, abruptly and a little anxiously.
"Nance, why do you say that?"
"Say what?"
"That people would ask me for dances—that people would care?"
Again Nance paused and looked at her.
"I am nearly angry with you, for asking anything so silly," she said after a second's pause. "But I won't be. I'll forgive you. Though you know perfectly well that there isn't a man here who wouldn't sit out—or dance—or do anything in the world with you, from now till Doomsday."
She looked up laughingly; but, as she did so, her expression fell.