Part 73 (1/2)

Everywhere in that day there seemed to be a band somewhere playing a turkey-trot. There was such a band here, and such music was to be expected; but there was something whimsical about the fact that the tune this band struck up now was a rag-time version of ”Mendelssohn's Wedding March.”

Persis was so eager to be in Forbes' arms again, and the dance was so ample an excuse, that she smiled into his mask of horror. ”We haven't danced for ever so long.”

A wanton whoop of the violins swept away all such solemn things as honor, decency, duty. He rose and caught her in his embrace. It was the same girlish body, irresistibly warm and lithe. They swung and sidled and hopped with utter cynicism. The only remnant of his horror was a foolish, bewildered, muttered: ”How could you?”

”Come to Paris?” she asked.

”Yes.”

”Because I felt you still loved me as I still love you, and because I thought you were--perhaps--afraid.”

”Afraid, eh?” He laughed, his professional soldier's pride on fire.

”Well, I don't think you will find me a coward.”

And he tightened his arm about her like a vise and spun her so dizzily that, though she was rejoiced by his brutality, the discretion that was her decalogue spoiled her rapture. She felt again that swoon of fear, and made him lead her back to their niche.

She did not know that Amba.s.sador Tait had come in and had watched the vortex, was watching now with terror the look on Forbes' face and her answering smile. He could not hear their words--he did not need to. He knew what their import would be. The burlesque of the wedding music was the final touch of sarcasm.

Persis, ignorant of his espionage, sighed, ”Oh, it is wonderful to be together again!”

”Wonderful,” Forbes panted. ”But it is in a crowd, and you are married.”

”That does not mean that I am never to see you alone, does it?” she asked, anxiously and challengingly.

Forbes was still wise enough and well enough aware of his own pa.s.sion to say, ”But discovery and scandal would be the only result.”

”Not if we were very discreet,” Persis pleaded, thinking of those lonely months.

”But your husband?”

Persis uttered that ugly old truth, ”If we can evade gossip abroad, we shall be safe enough at home.”

And as if in object-lesson, Willie Enslee joggled up that very moment.

He showed the influence of mild tippling on a limited capacity, and, coming forward, shook hands foolishly and forcibly with Captain Forbes.

”How d'ye do--Mr. Ward,” he drawled.

”Captain Forbes, dear,” Persis corrected.

”That's right. I always was an a.s.s about names, Mr. Ward. I haven't seen you for years and years, have we? Have you met my wife? Oh, of course you have.”

Forbes was revolted. There was something loathsome about the little farce. Enslee reminded him of the clown in ”I Pagliacci,” and Persis, like another Nedda, was determined to finish the scene. Tucking her fan under her thigh, she said with innocent voice, ”Oh, Willie, I've lost my fan somewhere; would you mind looking for it?”

Obediently Enslee turned and wandered about, scanning the floor carefully and chortling idiotically, ”Fan, fan, who's got the fan?” And so he floated harmlessly and blindly out of the cloud that was thickening around his household.

Persis laughed. ”You see what an ideal husband Willie is?” But Forbes, who had a strong stomach for warfare with its mangled enemies and shattered comrades, shuddered at this tame domestic horror. He blurted out:

”It is all the more shameful to deceive a fool.”

”Oh, now you're becoming scrupulous again!” said Persis, who thought pride of little moment in the face of the victory she had set her heart on.