A great revulsion of feeling went through Dinah.  It shook her like an overwhelming tempest and passed, leaving her deadly cold.  She turned white to the lips.

“I can’t go to him, Biddy,” she said.  “I can’t dance to-night.  Yvonne must tell him.”

Biddy gave her a searching look.  “Ye won’t let him find out, Miss Dinah?” she urged.  “Won’t he guess now if ye stay up here?”

The earnest entreaty of the old bright eyes moved her.  She turned to the door.  “Oh, very well.  I’ll go myself and tell him.”

“Ye won’t let him suspect, mavourneen—­mavourneen?” pleaded Biddy desperately.

“No, Biddy, no!  Haven’t I sworn it a dozen times already?” Dinah had reached the door; she looked back for a moment and her look was steadfast notwithstanding the deathly pallor of her face.  Then she passed slowly forth, and heard old Biddy softly turn the key behind her, making assurance doubly sure.

Slowly she moved along the passage.  It was deserted, but the sound of laughing voices and the tuning of violins floated up from below.  Again that feeling that was akin to physical sickness assailed Dinah.  Down there he was waiting for her, waiting to be intoxicated into headlong, devouring passion by her dancing.  She seemed to feel his arms already holding her, straining her to him, so that the warmth of him was as a fiery atmosphere all about her, encompassing her, possessing her.  Her whole body burned at the thought, and then again was cold—­cold as though she had drunk a draught of poison.  She stood still, feeling too sick to go on.

And then, while she waited, she heard a step.  Her heart seemed to spring into her throat, throbbing wildly like a caged bird seeking freedom.  She drew back against the wall, trembling from head to foot.

He came along the passage, magnificent, princely, confident, swinging his shoulders with that semi-conscious swagger she knew so well.  He spied her where she stood, and she heard his brief, half-mocking laugh as he strode to her.

“Ah, Daphne!  Hiding as usual!” he said.

He took her between his hands, and she felt the mastery of him in that free hold.  She stood as a prisoner in his grasp.  Her new-found resolution was gone at the first contact with that overwhelming personality of his.  She hung her head in quivering distress.

He bent down, bringing his face close to hers.  He tried to look into the eyes that she kept downcast.

And suddenly he spoke again, softly into her ear.  “Why so shy, little sweetheart?  Are you getting frightened now the time is so near?”

Her breathing quickened at his tone.  Possessive though it was, it held that tender note that was harder to bear than all his fiercest passion.  She could not speak in answer.  No words would come.

He put his arm around her and held her close.  “But you mustn’t be afraid of me,” he said.  “Don’t you know I love you?  Don’t you know I am going to make you the happiest little woman in the world?”