“That’ll be fun!”
“Then there’ll be more than just me to do the hoping.”
“You’re a dear.”
Fanny saw a party of eighteen years ago. She met Harry there. They walked the verandah ... walked back and forth three dances.
The espagnols are open. The music flutters through into the purple night like cherry-colored ribbons.
“Let’s go on the lawn,” he said. “Let’s dance on the lawn.”
“We can dance here.”
“No. Let’s dance on the lawn.”
“Then we won’t dance.”
But at last she yielded. He clasped her waist. He sprang with her through the elastic night. The grass was moving crystal sea under their silent feet.