was not sure that 'No' was what she wanted to say. The acting of the Mr. Thornton who was called Bill had been wonderfully lifelike. And that touch of warm, live velvet on her hand: she had known nothing like it. She felt as though those five minutes had upset all her ideas on all important subjects. She wanted to be alone, to think, to remember every word he had said, to make up her mind whether she ought to have been angry, to have walked away as soon as he began with: "Now give me a flower . . ." No, it began before that. How was it it began? He, meanwhile, was talking of Schubert's songs.
The strains of a waltz sounded. "I ought to play that," he said, "it's my brother's turn to dance." And Lucilla, entering the drawing-room on his arm, met herself in the mirror of the cupids, and almost felt as though the kiss on her hand were branded on her cheek.
"How different I look!" she thought. And then, as if one adventure in one evening were not enough, Mr. Tombs murmured as they waltzed: "Let us go round the garden the minute the music stops; the paths are quite dry. I have something really important to say to you."
"All right," said Lucilla. She could not say 'No.' To do so would be to admit to herself that she feared that Mr. Tombs also might desire to act Venetian charades and imprint velvet salutes upon hands like lilies. Also, at the very bottom of her mind something lurked that was not unlike a sort of curiosity to know how, if at all, Mr. Tombs would act his charade. L'appetit vient en mangeant, so they say, and if Mr. Tombs did act Venetian charades she would not be taken by surprise this time. Gently but firmly, with true dignity and self-possession, she would put Mr. Tombs in his place, would show him that she was not to be flattered and fooled like a silly, inexperienced girl, because she was, of course, something quite different.
So as the dance ended she allowed herself to be led through the French window and round by the shrubbery and by winding walks to the sundial.
