“Did I not also tell you the truth when you asked me? And you rewarded me by calling me banal.”
“And I was right. You, who are so clever, could think of something better to say.” She gave him a quick glance, and placed a quivering morsel of jelly between her lips. “But you are so very strange to me. Tell me, were you never in love?”
“That is a question I may not answer.” He still smiled, but it was merely the continuation of the smile he had worn before she shot that last arrow. He still looked in her eyes, but she knew he was not seeing her. Then he rallied and laughed. “Come, question for question. Were you never in love––or out of love––let us say?”
“Oh! Me!” She lifted her shoulders delicately. “Me! I am in love now––at this moment. You do not treat me well. You have not danced with me once.”
“No. You have been dancing always, and fully occupied. How could I?”
“Ah, you have not learned. To dance with me––you must take me, not stand one side and wait.”
“Are you engaged for the next?”
“But, yes. It is no matter. I will dance it with you. He will be consoled.” She laughed, showing her beautiful, even teeth. “I make you a confession. I said to him, ‘I will dance it with you unless the cold monsieur asks me––then I will dance with him, for it will do him good.’”
Robert Kater rose and stood a moment looking through the palms. The silken folds of his toga fell gracefully around him, and he held his head high. Then he withdrew his eyes from the distance and turned them again on her,––the gold and white being at his feet,––and she seemed to him no longer human, but a phantom from which he must flee, if but he might do so courteously, for he knew her to be no phantom, and he could not be other than courteous.