“I do not.”
She nodded. “I have listened to this music and I have watched these others dance. I think I can dance the fox-trot, too. You shall dance with me, Stoneface. I would learn.”
“I’ll not make a spectacle of myself, Tamea.”
“Then I shall. You shall dance with me or I shall dance alone, and when I dance alone others cease dancing to watch me. I will do what you call bust up the show. I will do the hula!”
“You win,” he declared, and they stood up. Tamea made a false step or two, caught the rhythm and moved away rather easily. As she gathered confidence she improved and they circled the hall without colliding with anybody. “You’re an apt pupil,” said Mellenger.
“I grow more apt,” she retorted—and commenced to dance. In all his days Mark Mellenger had never held in his arms a more wonderful partner. She handled him easily, steering him cleverly among the dancers, moving with a swiftness, a lightness and an abandon both new and thrilling.
“You have danced before?” he charged. “You’re marvelous.”
“In Tahiti,” she admitted. “I had a humor to force you to meet my will. Now I am very weary—so weary that I shall not dance with Dan Pritchard if he asks me—and he will.”
Dan did—and Tamea begged off. Mellenger was immensely amused. “Playing me off against old Dan,” he thought. “Well, I think I shall fall in with that mood and play the game. This is getting interesting.”
They drove around the seventeen mile drive the following forenoon and had a Spanish luncheon in Monterey; in the afternoon Mark and Dan played eighteen holes of golf while Tamea and Maisie went down to the beach swimming. After dinner Tamea fell into step beside Mellenger as they walked down the long hall and clasped her hand in his, after a childish fashion she had.