She was not bold, she said. That much was obvious; her whole demeanor screamed the opposite. She seemed incapable of looking up enough to make eye contact with anyone taller than a house-elf, her cheeks were bright red, and her voice was low. Don Juan was terribly amused.

"Will you dance with me?" he asked suddenly. She'd brought up his sister and then never finished whatever she presumably wanted to say about her, but Don Juan didn't really care whether the conversation was interrupted; he was having a grand time tormenting her at this point. He took a large swallow of his drink, intending to finish it off and then take her hand and wend their way through the party towards the dance floor before she'd had a chance to stutter out a refusal. Obviously she wouldn't want to dance with him, obviously she was not enjoying his company in the slightest, but he was having fun and no polite woman could outright refuse a dance, particularly not if they were already on the way to the dance floor. She might not have been bold, but Miss November did strike him as infallibly polite.

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