lonely and unhappy girl before him a slight conventional attention: music from the "Palm Garden" was still audible. He went into the lounge at once, presented himself before her and asked her to dance.
She gave him another queer look, as brief as the one he had caught from her at dinner and as eloquent, but not less hostile. "What do you mean by this?" it seemed to say, and to add: "Intruder!" Then, with instantly downcast eyes, she seemed to consider his invitation unfavourably, for she frowned; but abruptly she rose and without any other sign of consent and without speaking at all, went with him, and they began to dance.
Nothing could be asked of this provincial Olivia's dancing, her partner was forced to admit to himself: she gave him no more trouble than if she had been a floating roseleaf in flight on the air, here or there or wherever he would, at his wish. But she did not look up again, and he had a fine view of dark eyelashes against new ivory; she did not look up even when he spoke to her. "I haven't happened to see your father anywhere about the boat since dinner," he said, as with a casual commonplace of humour. "I don't suppose he got off at a way-station, do you?"
