“Nonsense. It’ll teach him to be more punctual. Do you think if I’d been engaged to the belle of the evening I should have kept her waiting one single moment?”
He was so good looking, and there was about him such a buoyant charm of manner that Gwendolen was somewhat dazzled. The Canon had a great sense of rhythm, and their waltz went exceedingly well.
“You dance better than Lionel,” she said, smiling.
He pressed her hand slightly in acknowledgment of the flattering remark, and his glance positively made her heart beat a little.
“You mustn’t think because my hair is nearly white that I’m quite an old fossil.”
Gwendolen looked at his hair and thought it very handsome. She was pleased with the admiration that filled his eyes when they caught hers. She blushed, and they danced for a while in silence.
“I enjoyed that more than any dance this evening,” she sighed, when the music ceased.
“Then you must give me another. I owe you a debt of gratitude. You’ve made me feel four-and-twenty.”
“I don’t believe you’re a day more,” she answered, reddening at her boldness.
Like many young persons before her Gwendolen felt that a week’s acquaintance with Theodore Spratte had turned him into an old friend. She would have confided to him her most treasured secrets without hesitation. He took her to have an ice, and she observed with pleasure the courtliness with which he used her. It seemed more than politeness which made him so anxious for her comfort. Her wants really seemed to matter to him.