"Only I wouldn't tell her so," he said.
"Wouldn't tell her what?" I demanded.
"That you were relieved to know she could dance."
"I never doubted it," I said shortly.
He looked surprised. "Oh!" he remarked; "Oh!"--and fell to stroking
his imperial.
"Courtney," said I, "you're a great fool--and I'm another."
"True, Major, quite true; I found that out long ago."
My irritation went down before his unfailing good nature. It was
always so.
"Since we are unanimous on that point," I said, "I have no ground for
quarrel."
I danced the next number with Lady Helen, the youngest daughter of Lord
Radnor, the British Ambassador. We were old friends, after the modern
fashion. I had met her in Washington some four or five years before,
while on staff duty, and we had danced and dined ourselves into each
other's regard. Then, Lord Radnor was transferred to Dornlitz and I
went back into active service. So I had been altogether well pleased
to find her with the Radnors when we chanced upon them during the
stroll around the room, and I had engaged a pair of dances to give us a
chance for a quiet little chat.
"Do you know, Major, for a stranger you are arousing extraordinary
curiosity?" she remarked, as we sat on the terrace.