“Of course it is affection. Who could be with you as I have been and not grow tremendously fond of you?”
“Nobody ever did except you. Mr. Westmore was always nice. But—but you are so kind—I can’t express—I—c-can’t——” Her emotion checked her.
“Don’t try, dear!” he said hastily. “We’re going in to have a jolly dance now. You and I begin it together. Don’t you let any other fellow take you away!”
She looked up, laughed blissfully, gazing at him with brilliant eyes a little dimmed.
“They’ll all be at your heels,” he said, beginning to comprehend the beauty he had let loose on the world, “—every man-jack of them, mark my prophecy! But ours is the first dance, Dulcie. Promise?”
“I do. And I promise you the next—please——”
“Well, I’m host,” he said doubtfully, and a trifle taken aback. “We’ll have some other dances together, anyway. But I couldn’t monopolise you, Sweetness.”
The girl looked at him silently, then her grey, intelligent eyes rested directly on Thessalie Dunois.
“Will you dance with her?” she asked gravely.