“Remember, we can only have this one day together.” The quiet utterance of the words stung Jean into a realisation of their significance, and suddenly she was conscious that the knowledge that this unknown Englishman was going away—going out of her life as abruptly as he had come into it—filled her with a quite disproportionate sense of regret. She found herself unexpectedly up against the recognition of the fact that she would miss him—that she would like to see him again.
“Then—you want me to forget?” she asked rather wistfully.
Her eyes fell away from him as she spoke.
“Yes,” he returned gravely. “Just that. I want you to forget.”
“And—and you?” The words seemed dragged from her without her own volition.
“I? Oh”—he laughed a little—“I’m afraid I’m inconsistent. I’m going to ask you to give me something I can remember. That’ll even matters up, if you forget and I—remember.”
“What do you want me to give you?”
He made a sudden step towards her.
“I want you to dance with me—just once. Will you?”—intently.
He waited for her reply, his keen, compelling glance fixed on her face. Then, as though he read his answer there, he stepped to her side and held out his arm.