She was evidently
enjoying to the utmost the novelty of receiving homage from one black-
coated courtier after another, and of hearing delightful things about
herself. The only apparent drawback to her pleasure was when she was
compelled to say as she did now:
"Thank you ever so much, but I'm not dancing."
"Not dancing?" repeated Mr. Horton, not unmindful of the whiteness of
her shoulders against the dark marble of a neighboring pedestal,--
'"Why not?"
"The Doctor and I have given up dancing."
"Oh, so he doesn't allow you to dance?"
"Allow me?" she lifted her level brows, smiling. "He simply doesn't
care for it."
"And you don't care for it either?"
"Oh, yes, I do, I care for it too much. That's why I'm not dancing."
"But you _are_ dancing. You've been dancing ever since you came in.
I've watched you. Mightn't you just as well be dancing with me, as
dancing by yourself?"
She laughed and shook her head, but her foot continued to pat the
time, and her eyes followed the swaying couples that swung past.
"What's the Doctor's objection?" Mr. Horton urged.
"He thinks it's undignified for married women to dance, and I guess I
do, too, only--" Miss Lady sighed,--"you see, I keep forgetting that I
_am_ a married woman!"
"You certainly make other people want to forget it," then his eyes
dropped before the childlike candor of her gaze.
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