"I asked you who was there, Captain Selwyn."
He recalled some names, and laughingly mentioned his dinner partner's preference for Harmon. She listened absently, her chin nestling in her palm, only the close-set, perfect ear turned toward him.
"Who led the cotillion?" he asked.
"Jack Ruthven—dancing with Rosamund Fane."
She drew her feet from the fender and crossed them, still turned away from him; and so they remained in silence until again she shifted her position, almost impatiently.
"You are very tired," he said.
"No; wide awake."
"Don't you think it best for you to go to bed?"
"No. But you may go."
And, as he did not stir: "I mean that you are not to sit here because I do." And she looked around at him.