He feels in brilliant spirits.
Tita Bolton is dancing, but when her dance comes to an end he goes to her and asks her for the next.

Yes; he can have it.

She dances like a little fairy, and when the waltz is at an end he goes with her, half mechanically, towards the conservatory at the end of the room.
His is calm now, quite calm; the chatter of the child has soothed him.

It had been a pleasure to dance with her, to laugh when she laughed, to listen to her nonsense.

As he walks with her towards the flowers, he tells himself he is not in the least unhappy, though always quite close to him, at his side, someone seems to be whispering: "It is all over! it is all over!" Well, so much the better.