UPON A CARPET
and warm upon his cheek and beneath their feet their shadows mixed in one, darted like imps.
Quicker, wilder, until the fabric they danced on glimmered beneath their eyes a veritable ground of flowers and he had the feeling of moving with her as one person. They sensed the approaching end. They spun like dervishes. The moment had come, when, with any girl the play would have ended naturally, as Fragonarde would have wished, with a kiss on a flushed cheek; but here was not "any girl," and his impulse was of no middle quality. It was catch her closer, or fling her as far as he could. With a quick turn of the wrist he had whirled them apart. Circling still to keep balance, they swung to opposite ends of the carpet. Blanche Rader looked astonished, but by no means resentful at the summary handling. She caught step, curtsied deeply, making of this last impromptu, a figure in the dance, and panting, pressing her hand to her side, poised, seemed to entertain an idea of sitting down on the flowered surface—changed her mind. "I have to go; I hear mother starting dinner," she declared as if an unspoken agreement had been between them to stay out as long as the powers permitted.
"What shall I do with the carpet?" he called after her.
"Leave it till to-morrow, leave it in the sun," she
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