She flushed slightly when she danced; she loved to dance; she loved the warmth of it with the movement and the rhythm. Dave, dancing with her, clasped her hand with palm pleasantly moist against his palm; his arm which surrounded her felt the rhythmic draw and relax of her body, as she danced and her bosom rose with her full, even breathing.
He had anticipated much in a dance with her; he remembered how he had felt when she skated with him, how she put all her body into it in a way unlike other girls; but he had not been able to anticipate this pleasure from her feeling for rhythm, for motion slow or swifter but always positive yet effortless, powerful but never pulling upon him. She never tried to "lead"; he never thought of her as possibly trying. She followed him perfectly; always the initiative, the direction, the choice of step was his. Sometimes she warned him of couples threatening to collide in approach from a direction in which he could not see. She did this by sudden, pleasant pressure of her fingers about his; and as soon as she had warned him, she gave herself to his guiding again.
"Don't you ever lead?" he asked her.
"Not dancing with a man," she replied; and after she had thought a minute, "nor with girls either, I guess."
"Why not?"
"I don't like it. Do you?"
"For you?" said Dave. "No." And he clasped her closer as he gave himself to the joy of the dance with her; and he felt new delight in her at his realization of the docility which underlay her nature. She
