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His mention of Lillian made Aileen think of her in a faintly derogative way for a moment.
"I think you dance very well. I watched you, too." She questioned afterwards whether she should
have said this. It sounded most forward now--almost brazen.
"Oh, did you?"
"Yes."
He was a little keyed up because of her--slightly cloudy in his thoughts--because she was
generating a problem in his life, or would if he let her, and so his talk was a little tame. He was
thinking of something to say--some words which would bring them a little nearer together. But
for the moment he could not. Truth to tell, he wanted to say a great deal.
"Well, that was nice of you," he added, after a moment. "What made you do it?"
He turned with a mock air of inquiry. The music was beginning again. The dancers were rising.
He arose.
He had not intended to give this particular remark a serious turn; but, now that she was so near
him, he looked into her eyes steadily but with a soft appeal and said, "Yes, why?"
They had come out from behind the palms. He had put his hand to her waist. His right arm held
her left extended arm to arm, palm to palm. Her right hand was on his shoulder, and she was
close to him, looking into his eyes. As they began the gay undulations of the waltz she looked
away and then down without answering. Her movements were as light and airy as those of a
butterfly. He felt a sudden lightness himself, communicated as by an invisible current. He
wanted to match the suppleness of her body with his own, and did. Her arms, the flash and glint
of the crimson sequins against the smooth, black silk of her closely fitting dress, her neck, her
glowing, radiant hair, all combined to provoke a slight intellectual intoxication. She was so
vigorously young, so, to him, truly beautiful.
"But you didn't answer," he continued.
"Isn't this lovely music?"
He pressed her fingers.
She lifted shy eyes to him now, for, in spite of her gay, aggressive force, she was afraid of him.
His personality was obviously so dominating. Now that he was so close to her, dancing, she
conceived of him as something quite wonderful, and yet she experienced a nervous reaction--a
momentary desire to run away.
"Very well, if you won't tell me," he smiled, mockingly.
He thought she wanted him to talk to her so, to tease her with suggestions of this concealed
feeling of his--this strong liking. He wondered what could come of any such understanding as
this, anyhow?
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