Mrs. Hubbell had slipped into the use of her Christian name, a slip that once made it was impossible to correct.
“Am I?”
“You looked like a fifteenth century saint—a Renaissance saint frowning on worldliness, but secretly indulging in it.”
Jim’s glance was on Horatia too. She turned the conversation a little impatiently and Anthony Wentworth came to claim his dance and be extravagantly greeted by those at the table who knew him, except Langley.
They swept into the dance and silences. It was not until the encore that they spoke. He danced simply and easily and Horatia followed him well, although it was her first dance with him.
“So this is what you do for amusement.”
“Sometimes,” she answered, “and sometimes it really is amusing. Not tonight. Tonight the enchantment has vanished. I see only an overlighted room with horrible garish decorations and a lot of noisy women, too many of whom are fat.”
He chuckled.
“I did want to see you again. And I did my best to work it. But short of making myself a public nuisance I couldn’t get a glimpse.”
“I didn’t know you were staying in the city.”