"Am I to have two dances?" I asked.
"Two? Why, you blessed man, you may have twenty!"
She turned to me, eyes sparkling, fan half spread, a picture of exquisite youth and beauty. Her jewels flashed in the chaise-lamps, her neck and shoulders glowed clear and softly fair.
"Is that French red on lip and cheek?" I asked, to tease her.
"If there were a certain sort of bridge betwixt Wall Street and the Fort you might find out without asking," she said, looking me daringly in the eyes. "Lacking that same bridge, you have another bridge and another problem, Mr. Renault."
"For lack of a Kissing-Bridge I must solve the pons asinorum, I see," said I, imprisoning her hands. There was a delicate hint of a struggle, a little cry, and I had kissed her. Breathless she looked at me; the smile grew fixed on her red lips.
"Your experience in such trifles is a blessing to the untaught," she said. "You have not crumpled a ribbon. Truly, Carus, only long and intense devotion to the art could turn you out a perfect master."
"My compliments to you, Elsin; I take no credit that your gown is smooth and the lace unruffled."
"Thank you; but if you mean that I, too, am practised in the art, you are wrong."
The fixed smile trembled a little, but her eyes were wide and bright.