He could not quite make her out; a new type. There were moments when she thought of turning upon this man and talking to him. “In five minutes I shall be ready. ” She stopped with an air of interrogation. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. There was a strip of old rose brocade in the making that set an ache in the girl's heart for the want of it. “It’s the spring,” he said. “The truth!” Annabel bent over her and whispered in her sister’s ear.
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