"To amuse me? Unintentionally? perhaps."
"So that you notice me at all, it doesn't matter," he said under his breath.
"Goodness! what meekness! Only that you're a typical man and don't mean it, I'd hate you for it.... A meek man—from him, good Lord, deliver us! ... No, cousin, there is that in your eye which—and in your general make-up——"
"What?"
"Oh, I don't know—thirty-odd masculine years—very masculine!—or I'd not be dancing with you, or I'd not be in this house at this moment; or, rather, you wouldn't. Stop mincing along in a horrid sort of self-satisfied prance! ... And don't hop, either! Are you tiring?"
"No," he said bravely.
"I'll let you go in a moment, before you swoon and I have to drag you to a chair.... You dance well enough. I like it, really ... and—thank you very much indeed!"
They parted, breathless. She stood a moment waving her fan against her bright cheeks and touching her hair with cleft fingers. He extracted a handkerchief from his sleeve and used it frankly.
"It's hot in here," he said; "show me your roof garden."
"Silvette," she called over her shoulder, "will you come up to the roof?"