His eyes had wandered to the buzzing throng behind her, and she saw a
glint of criticism--or was it merely easy contempt?--dispel the smile
with which he had regarded her. His mouth wore a faint but unmistakable
sneer.
But in a moment his look returned to her, kindled upon her. "Are you for
the ice carnival to-night?" he asked.
She drew a quick, eager breath. "Oh, I do want to come! But I don't
know--yet--if I shall be allowed."
"Why ask?" he questioned.
She hesitated, then ingenuously she told him her difficulty. "I got into
trouble last night for dancing so late with you. And--and--I may be sent
to bed early to make up for it."
He frowned. "Do you mean to say you'd go?"
She coloured vividly. "I'm only nineteen, and I have to do as I'm told."
"Heavens above!" he said. "You belong to the generation before the last
evidently. No girl ever does as she is told now-a-days. It isn't the
thing."
"I do," whispered Dinah, in dire confusion. "At least--generally."
"And what happens if you don't?" he queried. "Do they whip you and put
you to bed?"
She clenched her hands hard. "Don't!" she said. "You're only joking, I
know. But--I hate it!"
His manner changed in a moment, became half-quizzical, half-caressing.
"Poor little brown elf, what a shame! Well, come if you can! I shall look
out for you. I may have something to show you."
"May you? Oh, what?" cried Dinah, all eagerness in a moment.
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