“I can’t refuse, of course,” replied Cowperwood, coldly.
“It’s the next one,” she replied.
They danced, but he scarcely softened to her at first, so angry was he. Somehow, because of all that had gone before, he felt stiff and ungainly. She had managed to break in upon his natural savoir faire—this chit of a girl. But as they went on through a second half the spirit of her dancing soul caught him, and he felt more at ease, quite rhythmic. She drew close and swept him into a strange unison with herself.
“You dance beautifully,” he said.
“I love it,” she replied. She was already of an agreeable height for him.
It was soon over. “I wish you would take me where the ices are,” she said to Cowperwood.
He led her, half amused, half disturbed at her attitude toward him.
“You are having a pleasant time teasing me, aren’t you?” he asked.
“I am only tired,” she replied. “The evening bores me. Really it does. I wish we were all home.”
“We can go when you say, no doubt.”