Her voice when she spoke was low and round and thrilled,
and it sent an answering thrill through Harber.
"I'm mad!" she said. "Moon-mad--or tropic-mad. I didn't hear you. I
was worshipping the night!"
"As I have been," said Harber, feeling a sudden pagan kinship with
her mood.
She smiled, and her smile seemed the most precious thing in the world.
"You, too? But it isn't new to you ... and when the newness is gone
every one--here at least--seems dead to it!"
"Sometimes I think it's always new," replied Harber. "And yet I've
had years of it ... but how did you know?"
"You're Mr. Harber, aren't you?"
"Yes. But---"
"Only that I knew you were here, having heard of you from the
Tretheways, and I'd accounted for every one else. I couldn't stay
inside because it seemed to me that it was wicked when I had come so
far for just this, to be inside stuffily dancing. One can dance all
the rest of one's life in Michigan, you know! So----"
"It's the better place to be--out here," said Harber abruptly.
"Need we go in?"
"I don't know," she said doubtfully. "Maybe you can tell me. You see,
I've promised some dances. What's the usage here? Dare I run away
from them?"
"Oh, it might prove a three-day scandal if you did," said Harber.
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