With a faint
accession of colour and a smile tending somewhat in the direction
of rigidity, she carried Alice's hand immediately onward to Mrs.
Palmer's. Alice's own colour showed a little heightening as she
accepted the suggestion thus implied; nor was that emotional tint
in any wise decreased, a moment later, by an impression that
Walter, in concluding the brief exchange of courtesies between
himself and the stately Mr. Palmer, had again reassured himself
with a yawn.
But she did not speak of it to Walter; she preferred not to
confirm the impression and to leave in her mind a possible doubt
that he had done it. He followed her out upon the waxed floor,
said resignedly: "Well, come on," put his arm about her, and they
began to dance.
Alice danced gracefully and well, but not so well as Walter. Of
all the steps and runs, of all the whimsical turns and twirlings,
of all the rhythmic swayings and dips commanded that season by
such blarings as were the barbaric product, loud and wild, of the
Jazz Louies and their half-breed bunches, the thin and sallow
youth was a master. Upon his face could be seen contempt of the
easy marvels he performed as he moved in swift precision from one
smooth agility to another; and if some too-dainty or jealous
cavalier complained that to be so much a stylist in dancing was
"not quite like a gentleman," at least Walter's style was what
the music called for.
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