He broke off. She watched him inscrutably. He waited for her to agree or disagree, but she did neither.
"Don't you ever form judgments on things?" he asked with some exasperation.
She shook her head and her eyes wandered back to the dancers as she answered:
"I don't know. I don't know anything about--what you should do, or what anybody should do."
She confused him and hindered the flow of his ideas. Self-expression had never seemed at once so desirable and so impossible.
"Well," he admitted apologetically, "neither do I, of course, but--"
"I just think of people," she continued, "whether they seem right where they are and fit into the picture. I don't mind if they don't do anything. I don't see why they should; in fact it always astonishes me when anybody does anything."
For a second he was startled, almost as though she had meant this literally.
"Sort of. I want to just be lazy and I want some of the people around me to be doing things, because that makes me feel comfortable and safe--and I want some of them to be doing nothing at all, because they can be graceful and companionable for me. But I never want to change people or get excited over them."
"You're a quaint little determinist," laughed Anthony. "It's your world, isn't it?"
"Well--" she said with a quick upward glance, "isn't it? As long as I'm--young."
She had paused slightly before the last word and Anthony suspected that she had started to say "beautiful." It was undeniably what she had intended.
Her eyes brightened and he waited for her to enlarge on the theme. He had drawn her out, at any rate--he bent forward slightly to catch the words.
That winter afternoon at the Plaza was the first of a succession of "dates" Anthony made with her in the blurred and stimulating days before Christmas. Invariably she was busy. What particular strata of the city's social life claimed her he was a long time finding out. It seemed to matter very little. She attended the semi-public charity dances at the big hotels; he saw her several times at dinner parties in Sherry's, and once as he waited for her to dress, Mrs. Gilbert, apropos of her daughter's habit of "going," rattled off an amazing holiday programme that included half a dozen dances to which Anthony had received cards.