that she wished to give a recital, but to increase her stature on it, so that Beman, for example, would see her as the star for the play about a dancer he kept talking about. She must have misunderstood.
"You mean you prefer Carnegie Hall?"
"Not that barn!"
"I don't know of any other place except Aeolian Hall, where they have concerts of modern music."
He shuddered delicately.
Disappointed, she turned away and saw him watching her in a mirror and, as their eyes met in the glass, he smiled caressingly, came to her and with his slender coffee-cream fingers brushed back a hair tendril from her cheek.
"In Kashmir," he intoned dreamily, "I would have a temple of my own, but here I am content to dance for friends in my studio."
"But you were interested when Figente spoke of doing Arabian Nights in that rundown Manhattan Opera House!"
"Quite different. The audience would have sat on silken cushions and only those who could achieve the Lotus position would have been permitted to attend."
"I don't think you are very practical."
He took her hand between his trembling two and from his relaxed lower lip she knew not dancing or India was in his thoughts. Again their eyes met and they laughed simultaneously.
She was determined to keep herself from being deflected. "You see," she explained, as if to someone unable to understand her language, "I thought that later, after I've studied with you and you think me ready, I would give a recital. If you wished to share the program all you would have to do—is dance. I'd get someone, a manager, to attend to the details. It would give New York a chance to see your art."
"We shall see, we shall see," he repeated vaguely.
Lucy removed her hand.
It was apparent he would have to make a literal promise. For this one, golden as a princess, dreamed of but never encountered in Mrs. Custerd's world, he would pull himself from sweet lethargy and submit to the exertion of work. Nothing less, he calculated, would achieve possession of her.
"Come, let us begin then," he said suddenly, flexing his arms and dancing with spontaneous playfulness.
Artist of dance. Artist of love. She knew what would happen if she as much as moved in his direction. I'm not going to rush into it
