She shook her head, and slipped from her high seat. Her gown had a train and slid like a gray snake on the stairs. She lifted her hand and scattered the rose leaves. "Better scatter them like that than give them to you."
"Why?"
"You'd wonder tomorrow morning which woman you danced with gave it to you."
"I would not. . . ."
"You would. . . ." The gray train slid further down the stairs. He followed it, protesting, "I am not as fickle as that. . . ."
"You are a faun. . . ."
He was at her side. "Well, you are not an abbess. I'll swear to that, Ethel. In spite of your nun's gray. And some day you are going to give me a rose."
She knew that she was going to give it to him—some day. She wanted to give it to him now. But she too knew how to play the game. One must never give Louis, easily, the thing he asked for.
So "I must look for Sally," she said, and left him.
Sally was in the ballroom with Winslow. Most of the guests were gone. Once more the great room seemed to dwarf its occupants. Sally, seeing her mother, far at the other end, said, "Thank you, Wolf, for a very happy time."
"Why do you call me 'Wolf'?" he demanded.
"Because I met you in a forest."
"I don't know what you mean," he said, impatiently.
Sally didn't explain. There was, indeed, no tactful explanation. So she said, "I shall feel very small in this big house."
