Even the delights of dancing paled before the alluring opportunities for tete-a-tetes that invited the soul to loaf in the long library before the baronial fireplace, or in the drawing-room with its deep comfy armchairs, its shaded lamps just made for a sly whisper of pretty nothings all a deux; or even in the billiard room where one could take a cue and show a prowess at still another game than that sponsored by Cupid and Terpsichore.
There are no more uses of "Terpsichore" in the book.
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Terpsichore is usually depicted sitting down and holding a lyre.
You must call her your Terpsichore, your Echo, your Clytemnestra.