She did not talk. She did not feel like it. She merely danced lightly on with Clarence, letting him say what he pleased.
"Do you remember the first time we danced together, Joy, the first time you ever danced with any one? I have always been so glad I was the first man you ever danced with."
"Why?" she asked absently. She wanted to get away, to get back to John Hewitt.
His arms tightened.
"Why? You know perfectly well why. You have got me—do you know it? From the very first minute I ever saw you."
She smiled up at him, and shook her head.
"You make love beautifully," she heard herself saying coolly. "But you really shouldn't make it to your host's fiancée in his house. It isn't done."
"Don't you suppose I know that?" answered Clarence tempestuously. "Joy Havenith, do you mean to say that you think I'm doing the ordinary love-making one does in any conservatory?"
She smiled a little. He was more like the Clarence she usually knew, and she did not take it at all seriously.
"Why, you do it better than most," she said. "Go on. I like it."