"Very well.... I'll help you."
They dragged the rugs aside.
The studio was all golden with the sun, now, and the brilliant rays bathed them as she laid her gloved hand in his and his arm encircled her waist.
She was a wonderful dancer; her supple grace and professional perfection enchanted him.
From time to time he left her to crank up the music-box; neither of them tired. Occasionally she glanced at her jewelled wrist-watch and ventured to voice her doubts as to the propriety of continuing in the imminence of Miss Davis's return.
"Then let's come up to my studio," he said. "I've a music-phone of sorts. We can dance there until you're tired, and then you can come down and see Miss Davis."
She demurred: the music-box ran down with a squawk.
"Shall we take one more chance here?" he asked.
"No, it's too risky.... Shall I run up to your place for just one little dance?"
"Come on!" he said, taking her hand.