The incident of their meeting was faultlessly correct, also, when after one of those endless lapses of time Lady Lothwell appeared and presented him as if the brief ceremony were one of the most ordinary in existence. The conventional grace of his bow said no more than George’s had said to those looking on, but when he put his arm round her and they began to sway together in the dance, Robin wondered in terror if he could not feel the beating of her heart under his hand. If he could it would be horrible—but it would not stop. To be so near—to try to believe it—to try to make herself remember that she could mean nothing to him and that it was only she who was shaking—for nothing! But she could not help it. This was the disjointed kind of thing that flew past her mental vision. She was not a shy girl, but she could not speak. Curiously enough he also was quite silent for several moments. They danced for a space without a word and they did not notice that people began to watch them because they were an attracting pair to watch. And the truth was that neither of the two knew in the least what the other thought. “That—is a beautiful waltz,” he said at last. He said it in a low meaning voice as if it were a sort of emotional confidence. He had not actually meant to speak in such a tone, but when he realized what its sound had been he did not care in the least. What was the matter with him? “Yes,” Robin answered. (Only “Yes.”) He had not known when he glanced at her first, he was saying mentally. He could not, of course, swear to her now. But what an extraordinary thing that—! She was like a swallow—she was like any swift flying thing on a man’s arm. One could go on to the end of time. Once round the great ball room, twice, and as the third round began he gave a little laugh and spoke again. “I am going to ask you a question. May I?” “Yes.” “Is your name Robin?” “Yes,” she could scarcely breathe it. “I thought it was,” in the voice in which he had spoken of the music. “I hoped it was—after I first began to suspect. I _hoped_ it was.” “It is—it is.” “Did we—” he had not indeed meant that his arm should hold her a shade closer, but—in spite of himself—it did because he was after all so little more than a boy, “—did we play together in a garden?” “Yes—yes,” breathed Robin. “We did.” Surely she heard a sound as if he had caught a quick breath. But after it there were a few more steps and another brief space of silence. “I knew,” he said next, very low. “I _knew_ that we played together in a garden.” “You did not know when you first looked at me tonight.” Innocently revealing that even his first glance had been no casual thing to her. But his answer revealed something too. “You were near the door—just coming into the room. I didn’t know why you startled me. I kept looking for you afterwards in the crowd.” “I didn’t see you look,” said Robin softly, revealing still more in her utter inexperience.