“No! I’m out of practice. I have been abroad for the last ten years, in out-of-the-way places for the most part, where balls don’t come into the programme. I’m afraid I’m not much of a partner, but if you will be good enough to try—”
“But I am not anxious to dance any more. I am tired and hot. If you are contented to talk—”
“You mean it? Really? That is jolly!” he cried eagerly. “Then, what do you say—shall we go to the balcony? It’s quieter there, and we may get a breath of air. There are some comfortable chairs, I know, for I helped to arrange them.”
Vanna rose, nothing loath. The evening was closing more pleasantly than she had anticipated, for this Mr Gloucester was a distinct change from the ordinary habitué of the ballroom, and his conversation promised to afford some interest. She seated herself in a corner of the balcony and put a leading question:
“You say you have lived abroad. Where does that mean? India?”
“India mostly; but I have done a lot of wandering about.”
“Are you by any chance a soldier?”
“Thank Heaven, no!”
She was both startled and amused by the vehemence of his denial, and looked at him curiously with her wide, grey eyes.
“Why this fervour? Most men would consider it a compliment to be asked such a question. Do you despise soldiers so heartily?”