It helped to save her from deciding a mode of salutation.
She did not salute him at all.

It made the meeting a continuation, without break, of their previous meeting.
"How do you like my new dress ?" she asked, as she drew the long part of her glove up her round, white arm.
"Beautiful," he stammered.
From the hazel eyes shot a shy-bold glance straight into his; it was as if those slim, taper fingers of hers had twanged the strings of the lyre of his nerves.

"You despise all this sort of trumpery, don't you ?" "Sometimes a man says things he don't mean," he found tongue to utter.
"I understand," said she sympathetically, and he knew she meant his note.

But he was too overwhelmed by his surroundings, by her envelope of aristocracy, too fascinated by her physical charm, too flattered by being on such terms with such a personage, to venture to set her right.
Also, she gave him little chance; for in almost the same breath she went on: "I've been in such moods!--since yesterday afternoon--like the devils in Milton, isn't it ?--that are swept from lands of ice to lands of fire ?--or is it in Dante?
I never can remember.

We must go straight off, for I'm late.