“You know—­dear—­I’m dancing every dance with you—­in the teeth of decency, the face of every convention, and defiance of every law of hospitality.  I belong to my guests.”

And again: 

“Do you know, Duane, there’s a sort of a delicious madness coming over me.  I’m all trembling under my skin with the overwhelming happiness of it all.  I tell you it’s intoxicating me because I don’t know how to endure it.”

He caught fire at her emotion; her palm was burning in his, her breath came irregularly, lips and cheeks were aflame, as they came to a breathless halt in the torchlight.

“Dear,” she faltered, “I simply must be decent to my guests....  I’m dying to dance with you again, but I can’t be so rude....  Oh, goodness! here they come, hordes of them.  I’ll give them a dance or two—­anybody who speaks first, and then you’ll come and find me, won’t you?...  Isn’t that enough to give them—­two or three dances?  Isn’t that doing my duty as chatelaine sufficiently?”

“Don’t give them any,” he said with conviction.  “They’ll know we’re engaged if you don’t——­”

“Oh, Duane!  We are only—­only provisionally engaged,” she said.  “I am only on probation, dear.  You know it can’t be announced until I—­I’m fit to marry you——­”

“What nonsense!” he interrupted, almost savagely.  “You’re winning out; and even if you are not, I’ll marry you, anyway, and make you win!”

“We have talked that over——­”

“Yes, and it is settled!”

“No, Duane——­”

“I tell you it is!”

“No.  Hush!  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.