Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. Besides, the sun had gone in and it looked like rain. 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. "You must have travelled a good deal to know so much about men. ” Sydney Courtlaw followed his timid knock. He went by another name then,—Rykhart Scherprechter I think he called himself.
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