He inclined his ear toward her, and she said in a laughing whisper: "Clive, I _feel_ beautiful to-night. Do you know how it feels to feel beautiful?" "Not personally," he admitted; and they separated still laughing like two children, the focus of sympathetic, amused, or envious glances from the brilliantly dressed throng clustering at the two cloak rooms. She came to him presently where he was waiting, and, instinctively the groups around the doors made a lane for the fair young girl who came forward with the ghost of a smile on her lips as though entirely unconscious of herself and of everybody except the man who moved out to meet her. "It's true," he murmured; "you _are_ the most beautiful thing in this beauty-ridden town." "You'll spoil me, Clive." "Is that possible?" "I don't know. Don't try. There is a great deal in me that has never been disturbed, never been brought out. Maybe much of it is evil," she added lightly. He turned; she met his eyes half seriously, half mockingly, and they laughed. But what she had said so lightly in jest remained for a few moments in his mind to occupy and slightly trouble it. From their table beside the bronze-railed gallery, they could overlook the main floor where a wide lane for dancing had been cleared and marked out with crimson-tasselled ropes of silk. A noisy orchestra played imbecile dance music, and a number of male and female imbeciles took advantage of it to exercise the only portions of their anatomy in which any trace of intellect had ever lodged. Athalie, resting one dimpled elbow on the velvet cushioned rail, watched the dancers for a while, then her unamused and almost expressionless gaze swept the tables below with a leisurely absence of interest which might have been mistaken for insolence--and envied as such by a servile world which secretly adores it. "Well, Lady Greensleeves?" he said, watching her. "Some remarkable Poiret and Lucille gowns, Clive.... And a great deal of paint." She remained a moment in the same attitude--leisurely inspecting the throng below, then turned to him, her calm preoccupation changing to a shyly engaging smile. "Are you still of the same mind concerning my personal attractiveness?" "I _have_ spoiled you!" he concluded, pretending chagrin. "Is that spoiling me--to hear you say you approve of me?" "Of course not, you dear girl! Nothing could ever spoil you." She lifted her Clover Club, looking across the frosty glass at him; and the usual rite was silently completed. They were hungry; her appetite was always a natural and healthy one, and his sometimes matched it, as happened that night. "Now, this is wonderful," he said, lighting a cigarette between courses and leaning forward, elbows on the cloth, and his hands clasped under his chin; "a good show, a good dinner, and good company. What surfeited monarch could ask more?" "Why mention the company last, Clive?"