k.
Michael liked her face. She had merry eyes, and a wide nose rather
Slavonic. Next to Lily she seemed almost dumpy.

"Letters, my dear," she exclaimed, in a very deep voice, "Who wants
letters?"

The music of a waltz was beginning, and Michael asked Lily if she would
dance with him. She looked at Sylvia.

"I don't think...."

"Oh, what rot, Lily! Of course you can dance."

Michael gave her a grateful smile.

In a moment Lily had lowered her mask, and they were waltzing together.

"My gad, how gloriously you waltz!" he whispered. "Did we ever dance
together five years ago?"

She shrugged her shoulders, and he felt the faint movement tremble
through the imponderable form he held.

"Lily, I've been looking for you since June," he sighed.

"You're breaking step," she said. Though her mask was down, Michael was
sure that she was frowning at him.

"Lily, why are you so cold with me? Have you forgotten?"

"What?"

"Why, everything!" Michael gasped.

"You're absolutely out of time now," she said sternly.

They waltzed for a while in silence, and Michael felt like a midge
spinning upon a dazzle.

"Do you remember when we met in Kensington Gardens?" he ventured. "I
remember you had black pompons on your shoes then, and now you have pale
blue pompons on your dress."

She was not answering him.

"It's funny you should still be living near me," he went on. "I suppose
you're angry with me because I suddenly never saw you again. That was
partly your mother's fault."

She looked at him in faint perplexity, swaying to the melody of the
waltz. Michael thought he had blundered in betraying himself as so
obviously lovestruck now. He must be seeming to her like that absurd and
sentimental boy of five years ago. Perhaps she was despising him, for
she could compare him with other men. Ejaculations of wonder at her
beauty would no longer serve, with all the experience she might bring to
mock them. She was smiling at him now, and the mask she wore made the
smile seem a sneer. He grew so angry with her suddenly that almost he
stopped in the swing of the dance to shake her.

"But it was much more your fault," he said savagely. "Do you remember
Drake?"

She shook her head; then she corrected herself.

"Oh, yes. Arthur Drake who lived next door to us."

"Well, I saw you in the garden from his window. You were being kissed by
some terrible bounder. That was jolly for me. Why did you do that?
Couldn't you say 'no'? W