The house swayed as I entered back into the smoke and luster of the late hour’s frolic, the tune for this last dance having already swept several couples into its music. Without speaking, Bart Hunnowell guided me into the center of that swirling lace and linen, into the bud of the dancing flower, right into the circle of his arms, never pausing. I closed my eyes an instant and fell into the sway and turn of our dance, his hand upon the base of my spine, guiding me across the floor. Round and around we whirled, until it seemed the room spun down to the single point where his hand touched my back. Other couples danced alongside, and they were but the flashing light and color of a backdrop, not the spinning center of the world, not this circle of sheer motion in which we clung. Faster and faster we moved, in and out of the others and around with a wild control, for I do not think he led anymore nor I followed, but still we moved as one, our feet impossibly certain of the marks, and with each swift turn, I felt a bubble of mad hilarity rising, until finally, just as the music finished, I could not bear it and I burst into high, gay laughter, breathless and free. I looked up at my partner, smiling, and for a brief instant Bart Hunnowell pressed me once still closer, and then he released me, as though casting off.

“Thank you for the dance, Miss Thomas.”

I nodded. I couldn’t trust myself to speak. For I felt I had just danced upon the lip of the world: Music and light and the low sound of human laughter coursed through me now as if my skin, my very body, were a portal to it all, all small and glorious, every gesture suddenly precious to me. Something indeed had broken open.

Beyond the rim of Mr. Hunnowell’s shoulder I could just see my father bending to better hear something Mrs. Strong seemed to be whispering. They had not noticed our dance. Papa’s face was flushed and intent on his conversation. Mama sat in shadow. And, as he accompanied me toward my parents, I had the curious sensation of returning to a house I had not known I had left: a house that blazed its bright light into the surrounding darkness.

“Maisie!” Papa drew me from the arm I held. “And Mr. Hunnowell.”

Mama looked up in surprise. Bart Hunnowell paid her his compliments and, with a tiny smile to me, retreated back into the crowd.

“Maisie, I had no idea you had made him your partner. I thought you danced with Mr. Lanman.”

“I did, Mama. But I grew faint, and we went out to the verandah for a breath of air, and while we stood there, Mr. Hunnowell came to ask for the last dance.”