She giggled, and he smiled down at her.

"But what a very strange topic of conversation for a ball," she said.

"I find that people invariably feel obliged to introduce some pious topic into the conversation as soon as they know I am a clergyman," David said, a twinkle in his eye. "It seems we are seen as something of a race apart."

Rachel was disconcerted. She had no wish to give an impression of herself as a pious hypocrite. She smiled gaily again and set herself to chatter about trivialities for the remainder of the set. But why was it that she felt she had lost his attention? She had not. He looked at her and at no one else all the time they danced, and participated in each topic of conversation she introduced. His manner did not become either cold or distant. His eyes continued to smile.

But she knew that he had gone from her. For the first time she was conscious of her bright and artificial manner, of the essential emptiness of her conversation. Usually she talked and talked and never paused to wonder if she had anything of consequence to say. And gracious, she thought, that was the only way to be. One would trail through life in silence if one waited for something of moment to say.

What was it about David Gower? she wondered, puzzled, even as she continued to chatter with growing animation. And then she realized with something of a shock that what made him different from almost every other gentleman of her acquaintance was that he did not worship her. He was perfectly correct and courteous toward her. But there was nothing either flirtatious or openly admiring in his manner. To him she was just another dancing partner, even perhaps a rather tedious and silly one. It was a thoroughly lowering thought.

Rachel chattered on.