Keats guessed whom she meant and said sharply, “It seems Shelley does not much like Prince Mavrokordatos.”
Mary tilted her head. “No more do you. Because he is dark? Because he is a prince?”
“Why—” He wondered what else she saw in his heart. “I don’t know,” he confessed. “Only that you seem to like him very well.”
“He is not the sort to please everyone. He has excellent qualities enough. Shelley will not consider them. Sometimes with men, it is like bringing two dogs into a house.”
“I suppose women are never jealous of each other?”
She frowned and loosened her hands from his elbows. Why had he said that? They continued to roll their awkward circle about the floor while other couples swung past at twice the speed, in time with the bright viols. When the song ended, neither moved to let
