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"You'll take my hand, won't
you? It's Graham's dummy, and we want to dance."
The two connecting rooms were full of people, and the air was heavy.
Through the haze she saw Graham, and nodded to him, but with a
little sinking of the heart. She was aware, however, that he was
looking at her with a curious intentness and a certain expectancy.
Maybe he only hoped she would let him dance with Toots.
"No, thanks," she said. "Sorry."
"Why not, Delight? Just a hand, anyhow."
"Three good reasons: I don't play cards on Sunday; I don't ever play
for money; and I'm stifling for breath already in this air."
She was, indeed, a little breathless.
There was, had she only seen it, relief in Graham's face. She did
not belong there, he felt. Delight was - well, she was different.
He had not been thinking of her before she came in; he forgot her
promptly the moment she went out. But she had given him, for an
instant, a breath of the fresh out-doors, and quietness and - perhaps
something clean and fine.


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