e would get a chance to dance with his ideal.
When they were going in to dinner, he met Suzanne in the hall.

"I am going with you," he said eagerly. "Save a few dances for me."

"Yes," she said, inhaling her breath in a gasp.

They went, and he initialled her card in five places.

"We must be careful," she pleaded. "Ma-ma won't like it."

He saw by this that she was beginning to understand, and would plot with
him. Why was he luring her on? Why did she let him?

When he slipped his arm about her in the first dance he said, "At last!"
And then: "I have waited for this so long."

Suzanne made no reply.

"Look at me, Suzanne," he pleaded.

"I can't," she said.

"Oh, look at me," he urged, "once, please. Look in my eyes."

"No, no," she begged, "I can't."

"Oh, Suzanne," he exclaimed, "I am crazy about you. I am mad. I have
lost all reason. Your face is like a flower to me. Your eyes--I can't
tell you about your eyes. Look at me!"

"No," she pleaded.

"It seems as though the days will never end in which I do not see you. I
wait and wait. Suzanne, do I seem like a silly fool to you?"

"No."

"I am counted sharp and able. They tell me I am brilliant. You are the
most perfect thing that I have ever known. I think of you awake and
asleep. I could paint a thousand pictures of you. My art seems to come
back to me through you. If I live I will paint you in a hundred ways.
Have you ever seen the Rossetti woman?"

"No."

"He painted a hundred portraits of her. I shall paint a thousand of
you."

She lifted her eyes to look at him shyly, wonderingly, drawn by this
terrific passion. His own blazed into hers. "Oh, look at me again," he
whispered, when she dropped them under the fire of his glance.

"I can't," she pleaded.

"Oh, yes, once more."

She lifted her eyes and it seemed as though their souls would blend. He
felt dizzy, and Suzanne reeled.

"Do you love me, Suzanne?" he asked.

"I don't know," she trembled.

"Do you love me?"

"Don't ask me now."

The music ceased and Suzanne was gone.

He did not see her until much later, for she slipped away to think. Her
soul was stirred as with a raging storm. It seemed as though her very
soul was being torn up. She was tremulous, tumultuous, unsettled,
yearning, eager. She came back after a time and they danced again, but
she was calmer apparently. They went out on a balcony, and he contrived
to say a few words there.

"You mustn't," she pleaded. "I