Lucilla did not know what to say, so she said nothing.
"You don't mind my talking nonsense?" he said. "Let's pretend you're an Italian lady and this isn't the gravel path but a canal in Venice, and that isn't the garden roller, but the end of my gondola, and I'm here at the peril of my life just to tread one measure with you and tell you once more that you are the radiant star of my dreams; and though you're a noble Venetian lady and I'm only a poor outlaw, with a price on my head, yet you stoop from the throne of your maiden magnificence and lend me, in one instant of cold condescension, your hand that is like a lily."
He glanced behind her. The hall was deserted. The others had gone out through the French windows on to the cedar lawn. He took her hand and kissed it, very lightly and softly, then laid it down on her lap as gently as though it had indeed been a flower.
"Don't say we'd better find the others. Forgive me instead. It's only a sort of play-acting, to fit the night—and in that rose-coloured dress you do so look the part. You do forgive me? Yes, I see you think I'm either very mad or very insolent, but really I'm not. Don't keep it in your mind against me, will you? Look upon it as a sort of charade, A charade that doesn't count or matter a bit. And don't look at me like that. For God's sake don't be afraid of me, I'm sorry I played the fool. Say it's all right."
"I suppose so," said Lucilla feebly, "but I don't think I like that sort of charade, I don't know my part, you see," she added, trying to speak as though it had been really a play. He turned his head away, and she thought she heard him say: "I wish to God I could teach you," but the next moment he laughed and said:
"Let my faults be writ in water! How I wish we could have more dance evenings! I'm sick of dragging that double bass about. Anyway, I'm going to enjoy this. No Venetian ladies for me, no gondolas—just Miss Craye and the next waltz but two—may I?"
Lucilla did not know how to say 'No'—and besides, she
