Something in this unhappiness of his—for he perceived that his feeling now amounted to unhappiness—made him think that another unhappy person would be congenial to him; and, as he came round the forward promenade deck and met her again, he stopped her.
"Miss Tinker, would you care to go in and dance?"
She looked at him for a moment, and then brusquely asked him a strange question: "What for?"
"I beg your pardon," he said, bowed, and would have gone on; but she detained him.
"I meant I didn't care for anybody to be polite to me," she explained, her voice still ungracious. "If you'd like me to dance with you because you want to dance and don't know anybody else to ask, I will."
"I think I could know other people to ask, if I wished to," he said. "I asked you because I"
She interrupted him. "All right; it doesn't matter. Why should anybody ever bother to explain anything? Besides, I like your dancing." They were just outside the Palm Garden door, and she dropped her wrap on a deck chair as she spoke; he opened the door for her; she went in quickly and turned with her hands outstretched to him.
