When they paused she felt that she was red; and then, for some
moments, she stopped looking at him. She fanned herself, and looked
at the flowers that were painted on her fan. He asked her if she
would begin again, and she hesitated to answer, still looking at the
flowers.
"Does it make you dizzy?" he asked, in a tone of great kindness.
Then Catherine looked up at him; he was certainly beautiful, and not
at all red. "Yes," she said; she hardly knew why, for dancing had
never made her dizzy.
"Ah, well, in that case," said Mr. Townsend, "we will sit still and
talk. I will find a good place to sit."
He found a good place--a charming place; a little sofa that seemed
meant only for two persons. The rooms by this time were very full;
the dancers increased in number, and people stood close in front of
them, turning their backs, so that Catherine and her companion seemed
secluded and unobserved. "WE will talk," the young man had said; but
he still did all the talking. Catherine leaned back in her place,
with her eyes fixed upon him, smiling and thinking him very clever.
He had features like young men in pictures; Catherine had never seen
such features--so delicate, so chiselled and finished--among the
young New Yorkers whom she passed in the streets and met at parties.
He was tall and slim, but he looked extremely strong. Catherine
thought he looked like a statue.
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