'"
"Oh, if you go to quoting Tennyson, it's all up with me. _Are_ you
married?"
"One can easily see that at any rate _you_ are not."
"Explain."
"Your voice lacks the proper and requisite anxiety. It is always the
married woman who enjoys the mask with thoroughness. She knows her
husband will be watching her; and jealousy is a good sign."
"You are a philosopher. Certainly you must be married."
"Well, one does become philosophical--after marriage."
"But are you married?"
"I do not say so."
"Would you like to be?"
"I have my share of feminine curiosity. But I wonder,"--ruminating,
"why they do not give masquerades oftener."
"That is easily explained. Most of us live masquerades day by day, and
there might be too much of a good thing."
"That is a bit of philosophy that goes well with your robe. Indeed,
what better mask is there than the human countenance?"
"If we become serious, we shall put folly out of joint," said I,
rising. "And besides, we shall miss the best part of this dance."
She did not hesitate an instant. I led her to the floor, and we joined
the dancers. She was as light as a feather, a leaf, the down of the
thistle; mysterious as the Cumaean Sibyl; and I wondered who she might
be.
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