"Have the dances changed--again?"

"It's the music, perhaps, that changes the dancing. Jazz is becoming
popular. And about all the crowd dances now is an infinite variation of
fox-trot."

"No waltzing?"

"I don't believe I waltzed once this winter."

"Jazz? That's a sort of tinpanning, jiggly stuff, isn't it?"

"Glenn, it's the fever of the public pulse," replied Carley. "The graceful
waltz, like the stately minuet, flourished back in the days when people
rested rather than raced."

"More's the pity," said Glenn. Then after a moment, in which his gaze
returned to the fire, he inquired rather too casually, "Does Morrison still
chase after you?"

"Glenn, I'm neither old--nor married," she replied, laughing.

"No, that's true. But if you were married it wouldn't make any difference
to Morrison."

Carley could not detect bitterness or jealousy in his voice. She would not
have been averse to hearing either. She gathered from his remark, however,
that he was going to be harder than ever to understand. What had she said
or done to make him retreat within himself, aloof, impersonal, unfamiliar?
He did not impress her as loverlike. What irony of fate was this that held