A determined admirer of Miss Ryder cut in early in the dance and Eustace
Bylant slipped out of the hall, found his overcoat and hat, and a moment
later was driving his roadster furiously toward Atlantic City. Snow lay
on the ground but the stars were brilliant overhead, and the clear
frosty air cooled his hot face. His brain had not been too befuddled to
receive a vibration from the misgiving in Gita’s, and he had skirted too
many pitfalls during the past months to make a mistake tonight. He went
to a hotel and took a cold shower, then visited a chemist who mixed him
a reliable bromide.
He felt he had his own reasons for annoyance. It was like Gita to forget
that after a man married a woman he would be expected to remain in her
house unless they left at once on a wedding journey; but although he had
thrown out several hints to that effect her mind had been too distracted
to receive them. Nor had he been able to have a word with Elsie, who,
however, might have been depended on not to overlook so important a
detail.
Luckily, his friends would go directly from the manor to their hotel and
leave by an early train for New York, either to spend Christmas day with
their families or to pay visits elsewhere. As he was, in a way, the host
of the occasion, he had an excuse to linger until the other guests had
left—and then sneak home to his lodgings! But he’d have an
understanding tomorrow. No one was more anxious to avoid gossip than
Gita.
With a clear complexion and clearer head he presented himself before the
future partner of his days shortly after a one-step had begun, and Polly
once more was dancing with Dr. Pelham.
“Oh!” exclaimed Gita. “You look yourself again—except for that wig. I
was going to give you a piece of my mind.”
“Glad I escaped it,” he said, smiling. “I went outside and cooled off my
head. I’ll take off the wig if you say the word. Only too glad to be rid
of it.”
“No. Not yet. The other men would follow suit and I don’t want my
picture spoiled. But mind you take it off before I come down. Nothing
would induce me to marry you in it. I’d feel as if I were marrying old
Cornbury.”
“Well, if you wear yours I’ll feel as if I were marrying my
great-grandmother.”
Gita laughed merrily, her equilibrium restored now that Eustace was
himself again. And she felt a sudden inexplicable desire for his
protection. She took his arm and led him to the deep window-seat behind
the Christmas tree that stood in an angle beside the fireplace.
“It was terribly thoughtless of me not to ask you to bring your things
over,” she said. “But I’ll have a room prepared tomorrow. Unless you’d
like to go to New York at once?”
“I’d far rather stay in the country.” He drew a deep sigh of relief.
Gita had a way of coming to her senses—tardily, but with a satisfying
completeness. It augured well for the future, and his reward would be in
just proportion to his torments.
He took her hand tentatively, and to his surprise she did not draw it
away. She smiled at him serenely. “It’s odd,” she said musingly, “but I
don’t mind you touching me in the least, and I hate even to shake hands
with another man.”
He tightened his grasp. This was the scene and the hour for love-making,
and the seclusion was complete. “I suppose you wouldn’t kiss me?” Then
as she frowned he added hastily, “Even men kiss one another in Europe,
you know.”
“Only on the cheek and always look too silly for words. But you may kiss
me there if you are feeling sentimental.”
The icy shower had steadied his nerves. He implanted a chaste salute on
a cool cheek. “I’m not feeling in the least sentimental, but somehow it
seemed the thing to do. Old Cornbury, no doubt, kissed every girl he
managed to get into a corner. And knocked her wig off. By the way, we
represent various eras tonight and I’m not sure they wore wigs in all of
them.”
“I was thinking of my party, not history. And they certainly improve
most of the men, as well as the girls. I never thought anything could
improve Polly, but she looks like the most exquisite miniature ever
painted.”
“Old Geoff evidently thinks so. He’s been dancing with her all evening.
He’s come out of his triple-plated shell with a vengeance. Never saw
such a metamorphosis. Always took for granted he had the same ugly mug
as the rest of us, and he looks like a stunning old picture come to
life. Polly may have met her fate.”
“Wouldn’t that be splendid!” Gita’s voice rang with enthusiasm.
“Hardly for Geoff. But——” He gave her a sharp narrowed glance. “Odd
that you should countenance even your friends’ falling in love!”
“Ah, but Polly’s bound to marry some day. They all think they must. And
it is something to satisfy the artistic eye of one’s friends. They
harmonize in looks, in height and in coloring—oh! I forgot—Polly said
once she couldn’t endure being married to a fair man.”
“Girls have been known to change their minds.” Bylant’s tones were both
dry and hopeful. “Nothing is safer to bet on.”
“Gita! Are you there?” Elsie appeared round the corner of the tree.
“It’s half-past eleven. Time for you to dress.”
Gita sprang to her feet wildly, her eyes darting about like those of a
forest animal caught in a trap. “Oh, I can’t! I——”
She met Bylant’s smiling gaze, and her nerves, which had seemed to arch
all over her body and hiss with a thousand voices, received a sharp
admonition from her brain and subsided.
“Come along!” Her voice was gay again. “And Eustace, take off your wig.”