They danced for a space without a word and they did not notice
that people began to watch them because they were an attracting
pair to watch. And the truth was that neither of the two knew in
the least what the other thought.
"That--is a beautiful waltz," he said at last. He said it in a
low meaning voice as if it were a sort of emotional confidence.
He had not actually meant to speak in such a tone, but when he
realized what its sound had been he did not care in the least.
What was the matter with him?
"Yes," Robin answered. (Only "Yes.")
He had not known when he glanced at her first, he was saying
mentally. He could not, of course, swear to her now. But what an
extraordinary thing that--! She was like a swallow--she was like
any swift flying thing on a man's arm. One could go on to the end
of time. Once round the great ball room, twice, and as the third
round began he gave a little laugh and spoke again.
"I am going to ask you a question. May I?"
"Yes."
"Is your name Robin?"
"Yes," she could scarcely breathe it.
"I thought it was," in the voice in which he had spoken of the
music. "I hoped it was--after I first began to suspect. I HOPED
it was."
"It is--it is."
"Did we--" he had not indeed meant that his arm should hold her
a shade closer, but--in spite of himself--it did because he was
after all so little more than a boy, "--did we play together in
a garden?"
"Yes--yes," breathed Robin.
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