“See here, little goose, I never cared about any of that crowd, and I haven’t been to the Bullier since—since last May.”
She turned her face up to his; tears were stealing down from under her mask.
“Why, Yvonne!” he began, but she clung to his shoulder, as the orchestra broke into a waltz.
“Don’t speak to me, Rex—but dance! Dance!”
They danced until the last bar of music ceased with a thundering crash.
“Tired?” he asked, still holding her.
She smiled breathlessly and stepped back, but stopped short, with a little cry.
“Oh! I’m caught—there, on your coat!”
He leaned over her to detach the shred of silk.
“Where is it? Oh! Here!”