it before you retire." And she seated herself in the arm-chair,
stretching out her ungloved hands to the blaze--smooth, innocent hands,
so soft, so amazingly fresh and white.

He moved a step forward into the warmth, stood a moment, then reached
forward for a chair and drew it up beside hers.

"Do you mean to say you are not sleepy?" he asked.

"I? No, not in the least. I will be to-morrow, though."

"Did you have a good time?"

"Yes--rather."

"Wasn't it gay?"

"Gay? Oh, very."

Her replies were unusually short--almost preoccupied. She was generally
more communicative.

"You danced a lot, I dare say," he ventured.

"Yes--a lot," studying the floor.

"Decent partners?"

"Oh, yes."