"No," said Ernest, astonished. "Why do you ask?"
"Because she said you did," answered Nina, never accustomed to conceal anything; "and, besides, it is exactly like mine."
"Infernal woman!" muttered Ernest. "How could you for a moment believe that I would have so insulted you?"
"I didn't believe it," said Nina, lifting her frank eyes to his. "But how very late you are; have you been at the ballet?"
His face grew stern. "Did she tell you that?"
"Yes. But why did you go there, instead of coming to dance with me? Do you like those danseuses better than you do me? What was Céline's or anybody's début, to you?"
Ernest smiled at the native indignation of the question. "Never think that I do not wish to be with you; but—I wanted oblivion, and one cannot shake off old habits. Did you miss me among all those other men that you have always round you?"
"How unkind that is!" whispered Nina, indignantly. "You know I always do."
He held her closer to him in the waltz, and she felt his heart beat quicker, but she got no other answer.
That night Nina stood before her toilette-table, putting her flowers in water, and some hot tears fell on the azalias.