"And?" he inquired suavely. The society polish was very thickly
coated over the man; but his eyes had a hungry look.

By way of reply her gloved hand crept out towards his, which rested
on the chair at his side.

"Jack!" she whispered; and that was all.

It was very prettily done, and quite naturally. He was a judge of
such matters, and appreciated the girlish simplicity of the action.

He took the small gloved hand and pressed it lovingly. The
thoroughness of his social training prevented any further display of
affection.

"Thank Heaven!" he murmured.

They were essentially of the nineteenth century--these two. At a
previous dance he had asked her to marry him; she had deferred her
answer, and now she had given it. These little matters are all a
question of taste. We do not kneel nowadays, either physically or
morally. If we are a trifle off hand, it is the women who are to
blame. They should not write in magazines of a doubtful reputation
in language devoid of the benefit of the doubt. They are equal to
us. Bien! One does not kneel to an equal. A better writer than
any of us says that men serve women kneeling, and when they get to
their feet they go away. We are being hauled up to our feet now.

"But--?" began the girl, and went no further.