Part 51 (1/2)

”No, Duane----”

”I tell you it is!”

”No. Hus.h.!.+ Somebody might overhear us. Quick, dear, here comes Bunny and Reggie Wye and Peter Tappan, all mad as hatters. I've behaved abominably to them! Will you find me after the third dance? Very well; tell me you love me then--whisper it, quick!... Ah-h! Moi aussi, Monsieur. And, remember, after the third dance!”

She turned slowly from him to confront an aggrieved group of masked young men, who came up very much hurt, clamouring for justice, explaining volubly that it was up to her to keep her engagements and dance with somebody besides Duane Mallett.

”Mon Dieu, Messieurs, je ne demanderais pas mieux,” she said gaily. ”Why didn't somebody ask me before?”

”You promised us each a dance,” retorted Tappan sulkily, ”but you never made good. I'll take mine now if you don't mind----”

”I'm down first!” insisted the Pink 'un.

They squabbled over her furiously; Bunbury Gray got her; she swung away into a waltz on his arm, glancing backward at Duane, who watched her until she disappeared in the whirl of dancers. Then he strolled to the edge of the lantern-lit glade, stood for a moment looking absently at the shadowy woods beyond, and presently sauntered into the luminous dusk, which became darker and more opaque as he left the glare of the glade behind.

Here and there fantastic figures loomed, moving slowly, two and two, under the fairy foliage; on the Gray Water canoes strung with gaudy paper lanterns drifted; clouds of red fire rolled rosy and vaporous along the water's edge; and in the infernal glow, hazy shapes pa.s.sed and repa.s.sed, finding places among scores of rustic tables, where servants in old-time livery and powdered wigs hurried to and fro with ices and salads, and set the white-covered tables with silverware and crystal.

A dainty masked figure in demon red flitted across his path in the uncanny radiance. He hailed her, and she turned, hesitated, then, as though convinced of his ident.i.ty, laughed, and hastened on with a nod of invitation.

”Where are you going, pretty mask?” he inquired, wending his pace and trying to recognise the costume in the uncertain cross light.

But she merely laughed and continued to retreat before him, keeping the distance between them, hastening her steps whenever he struck a faster gait, pausing and looking back at him with a mocking smile when his steps slackened; a gracefully malicious, tormenting, laughing creature of lace and silk, whose retreat was a challenge, whose every movement and gesture seemed instinct with the witchery of provocation.

On the edge of the ring of tables she paused, picked up a goblet, held it out to a pa.s.sing servant, who immediately filled the gla.s.s.

Then, before Duane could catch her, she drained the goblet to his health and fled into the shadows, he hard on her heels, pressing her closer, closer, until the pace became too hot for her, and she turned to face him, panting and covering her masked face with her fan.

”Now, my fair unknown, we shall pay a few penalties,” he said with satisfaction; but she defended herself so adroitly that he could not reach her mask.

”Be fair to me,” she gasped at last; ”why are you so rough with me when--when you need not be? I knew you at once, Jack.”

And she dropped her arms, standing resistless, breathing fast, her masked face frankly upturned to be kissed.

”Now, who the devil,” thought Duane, ”have I got in my arms? And for whom does she take me?”

He gazed searchingly into the slitted eye-holes; the eyes appeared to be blue, as well as he could make out. He looked at the fresh laughing mouth, a young, sensitive mouth, which even in laughter seemed not entirely gay.

”Don't you really mind if I kiss you?” He spoke in a whisper to disguise his voice.

”Isn't it a little late to ask me that?” she said; and under her mask the colour stained her skin. ”I think what we do now scarcely matters.”

She was so confident, so plainly awaiting his caress, that for a moment he was quite ready to console her. And did not, could not, with the fragrant and yielding intimacy of Geraldine still warm in his quickened heart.

She stood quite motionless, her little hands warm in his, her masked face upturned. And, as he merely stared at her:

”What is the matter, Jack?” she breathed. ”Why do you look at me so steadily?”

He ought to have let her go then; he hesitated, wondering which Jack she supposed him to be; and before he realised it her arms were on his shoulders, her mouth nearer to his.

”Jack, you frighten me! What is it?”