Action--decisive action--always brings relief. An hour after it had
come into her possession, Clodagh had dispatched Deerehurst's cheque to
her bankers in London; and when, at seven o'clock, she entered Nance's
room with the intention of dressing for the night's festivities, she
was carrying a cheque from her own book.
As she came into the room, Nance was kneeling before her trunk; but at
the sound of the closing door she looked round, and sprang to her feet
with a cry of delight.
"Clo!" she cried, running forward--"Clo, how lovely of you to come!
Shall we dress together, like long ago?" Then her eyes fell to the
folded slip of paper in Clodagh's hand. "What is that?" she asked
curiously.
Clodagh looked down at the cheque.
"I have come to do my duty!" she said, with a faint laugh. "Here is
your thousand pounds, darling. May it be enough to buy everything in
life worth having!"
Her voice faltered on the last words; but the touch of emotion was lost
in a sudden embrace from Nance.
"Oh, you darling!--you love!" she cried. "A thousand pounds! I feel a
queen!" She drew back a little, flushing with excitement and pleasure;
and opened the cheque almost reverently. "And can I really, really get
a thousand pounds by signing my name on the back of this? I can't
believe it, you know--I simply _can't_."
She raised her shining eyes to Clodagh's.
Clodagh's face softened.
"Oh, you child!" she said--"you child! It makes me remember our weekly
pennies, just to listen to you. How poor--and how very happy--we were
long ago! Do you remember?"
Nance gave a little cry of recollection.
"Remember, Clo! _Could_ I forget?"
Then followed another impulsive embrace, a kiss, and a whole torrent of
reminiscence. And a quarter of an hour had slipped away before the
entrance of Simonetta with Clodagh's dress recalled them to the
knowledge of present things.
Five minutes before the dinner hour had struck, the sisters entered the
hall. At the foot of the stairs Nance was detained by George Tuffnell;
while Clodagh, left alone for the moment, was at once claimed by
Serracauld.
He came forward from one of the windows, moving with his usual graceful
indolence, and, pausing beside her, looked intently into her face.
"You look radiant to-night," he said.
She laughed.
"Can one ever look radiant in black?"
Serracauld's eyes passed slowly from her face to her slim white neck.
"Yes," he said, in his cool, deliberate voice.
She gave another laugh, slightly shorter and more conscious than the
last. But before she could speak again, he moved a trifle nearer, and
laid his fingers lightly on her fan.
"And how many dances am I to have?"
"I told you I must not dance--yet."
"And I told you that I would not make you dance. How many may I have?"
He bent very close to her; then frowned a little, and drew away again,
as Lady Frances Hope, followed by Mrs. Bathurst and Mansfeldt, came
towards them across the hall.
"You'll give me the dances?" he asked quickly.
Clodagh glanced at the approaching party; then bent her head in assent.
"And which?"
His tone was eager.
"The first--at least," she said.
With a faint satisfied smile he turned and moved away.
Dinner that night was a very lively meal. Everybody seemed imbued with
the spirit of the coming ball, and anxious to display a personal sense
of anticipation. After the company had risen from table, Clodagh and
Nance met again in the hall by previous arrangement and retired to
their rooms, that Simonetta might put some finishing touches to their
hair and dresses, and that they might get the bouquets they were to
carry at the dance.
As they mounted the staircase side by side, Nance, after the custom of
old days, slipped her arm through her sister's.
"Clo!" she said softly, "you are excited too! I can feel it!"
Clodagh smile a little.
"Well, it is my first dance!"
Nance halted and looked at her.
"Why, of course it is! And you must feel like I did the night of Mrs.
Estcoit's ball--the night----" She stopped, blushing.
"Oh, darling," she added, "fancy my not realising that you had never
been to a dance? It must feel lovely and strange to you!"
Clodagh drew her onward up the stairs.
"Yes; it does feel different from anything else. Of course, I shan't
dance; but then people may ask me to--to sit out."
"_May?_ I wonder who _won't_ ask you!"
Nance's eyes spoke volumes, as they travelled from her sister's face to
the long lines of her soft black dress.
Arrested by the look, Clodagh spoke again, abruptly and a little
anxiously.
"Nance, why do you say that?"
"Say what?"
"That people would ask me for dances--that people would care?"
Again Nance paused and looked at her.
"I am nearly angry with you, for asking anything so silly," she said
after a second's pause. "But I won't be. I'll forgive you. Though you
know perfectly well that there isn't a man here who wouldn't sit
out--or dance--or do anything in the world with you, from now till
Doomsday."
She looked up laughingly; but, as she did so, her expression fell.
"Clo, you're angry?"
Clodagh patted the hand that lay upon her wrist.
"Angry, darling? No! Only thinking how wrong you are."
"Wrong?"
"Yes; I know one man who would not dance with me, even if--if I were to
offer him a dance----"
She made the confession swiftly, in obedience to a sudden impulse.
Nance looked at her afresh in involuntary curiosity.
"Clo----"
But Clodagh raised her head, in a half-defiant return to reticence.
"Don't mind me!" she said. "After all, no one man should fill anybody's
world, should he? Come along! It's half-past nine, and I hear the first
carriages."
And without waiting for Nance to reply, she swept her down the corridor
to the door of her bedroom.
The presence of Simonetta precluded the possibility of further
confidences; and ten minutes later, as the sisters again emerged upon
the corridor, the appearance of Lady Frances Hope from the door of her
own room deprived Nance of the moment for which she had been waiting.
Seeing them, Lady Frances came forward smilingly.
"How charming!" she said. "A study in black and white! Where did those
wonderful roses come from, Clodagh? They are nearly as dark as your
dress."
Clodagh looked down at the damask roses in her hand.
"Yes. Aren't they nearly black?" she said easily. "I was saying to Lord
Deerehurst the other day that there were no flowers one could wear in
mourning. And to-day I found these in my room. He had wired for them to
Ambleigh. It was very thoughtful of him."
Lady Frances gave an odd little smile.
"Very," she said. "I wonder if he meant them to be mourning. I believe
there was a language of flowers when he was young."
She gave a short amused laugh and turned to Nance.
"And this is your first English dance, Miss Asshlin?"
Nance, whose eyes had been flashing from one face to the other, gave a
little start at being so suddenly addressed.
"Yes--yes; it is. I came out in America."
"Then you can tell us in the morning which men make the nicest
partners, English or American."
Nance laughed. And Clodagh, with the new, protective instinct, put out
her hand and drew her close to her.
"Nance has made her choice," she said impulsively. "The field is not
open to Englishmen, But let us go downstairs! We are barely in time."
At the foot of the stairs, the three turned to the left and made their
way to the ballroom through the throng of arriving guests.
Entering the long room, they moved slowly forward to where Lady Diana
and her husband were receiving their guests.
Reaching Lady Diana's side, Clodagh felt her heart beat quicker, as she
caught side of Gore's fair head and tall, straight figure. And a
strange sense of repeated sensation surged about her. It might almost
have been the night at the Palazzo Ugochini, when Lady Frances Hope had
held her reception. Her hand felt a little unsteady as she laid it over
Nance's; her voice sounded low and uncertain as she spoke her hostess's
name.
"Lady Diana!" she said, "here is Nance! You told me to bring her to you
before the first dance."
At her tone, so very soft and pleading, Lady Diana turned; and a
smile--the first real smile she had given her since the episode of two
nights ago--broke over her face.
"Yes," she said, with sudden geniality--"yes; that is quite right!
Leave her with me; I will find her the nicest men." She paused, and her
eyes travelled kindly from Clodagh's face to her black dress.
"And you? Won't you have some partners?" Her glance swept the little
group about her. "Walter, Mrs. Milbanke won't dance, but----"
At the moment that she spoke, Serracauld's light voice sounded from
behind them, and his slim figure emerged from the surrounding crowd.
"Ah, here you are, Mrs. Milbanke! I have a strong suspicion that I am
only just in time. Where shall we go? Into the music-room? Or out into
the garden?" Supremely ignoring the rest of the group, he offered
Clodagh his arm and led her out into the throng, at the moment that the
swaying notes of the first waltz floated down from the musicians'
gallery.
With a faint disappointment, warring with a faint elation, Clodagh
suffered him to guide her down the long ballroom. Life seemed suddenly
a brighter thing than it had seemed for days. Nance was with her; Lady
Diana had smiled on her again; and only a moment ago she had met Gore's
eyes in almost the first direct glance they had exchanged since his
coming to Tuffnell. She lifted her head in response to a sudden excited
happiness, as the dancers flashed past her over the polished floor, and
the deep, long notes of the violins vibrated on the air.
Unconsciously her fingers tightened on Serracauld's arm; and in instant
response, he paused.
"Can you resist?" he said.
She looked up at him. The colour had rushed into her face with the
emotion of the moment. An inordinate longing to be young--to enjoy--to
be as the crowd about her--swept her mind imperiously.
A peculiar look crossed Serracauld's eyes.
"Just for two minutes?" he whispered. "No one will see you in the first
crush. There is no waltz like this!" Almost before she was aware of it,
he had slipped his arm round her waist.
For an instant a gleam of surprise--of alarm--showed in her face; then
the long, persuasive notes of the stringed instruments dropped to a
lower, more enticing key. She yielded to the pressure of his arm, and
the two glided in amongst the dancers.
They made the half-circuit of the room, escaping the observation of the
house party at its further end; and as they reached the door, Clodagh
pressed her hand detainingly on Serracauld's arm.
He paused.
"Tired?" he asked, looking down into her flushed face and brilliant
eyes.
She shook her head faintly. Her heart was still beating too fast--her
brain still felt too elated--to notice the ardour and the intentness of
his glance.
"We must stop," she said softly. "You know, even the two minutes were
stolen."
He slowly withdrew his arm from her waist, but still kept his eyes on
hers.
"I suppose all the things in life worth having are come by
dishonestly," he said lightly. Then, in a lower tone, he added, "Do you
know that you dance--gloriously?"
Clodagh made no answer. Her mind was more occupied with the dance just
gone through than with the partner who had shared it. And for the
moment Serracauld was content with her silence.
Leaving the ballroom, they passed together down a long corridor that
ended in a short flight of stairs, leading to the card-room.
At the foot of these stairs he paused, struck by a new idea.
"Suppose we look into the card-room?" he said. "I believe it will be
deserted at this early hour."
Clodagh assented.
"If you like," she said. "It _would_ be rather nice to find a quiet
spot." And, leading the way with careless unconcern, she began to mount
the stairs.
The door of the card-room was open. The baize-covered tables were
arranged for play; but only one small, green-shaded lamp had been
lighted; and the window was uncurtained and open to the still summer
night.
She paused on the threshold, and Serracauld stepped quickly to her
side.
"It might almost have been arranged for us," he said. "Won't you go
in?"
She waited for a moment longer; then she walked slowly forward and
halted beside one of the tables.
Very quietly her companion closed the door, and, crossing the room
softly, paused close behind her.
"Do you know that you dance--gloriously?" he said again. "But I always
knew you would. A waltz with you is one of the things I promised myself
a long time ago."
As he spoke, she was conscious that his shoulder almost brushed hers.
With a faintly uneasy movement she raised her head.
"What do you mean?" she asked, turning and meeting his eyes.
In the dim light of the room there was something curious, new, and
alarming in the glance she encountered. He was standing exceedingly
near; his face looked very pale; the pupils of his eyes were dilated,
giving them a peculiar, unfamiliar look.
Embarrassed, and yet doubtful that her embarrassment was justified, she
turned away, and, nervously taking a pack of cards from the table,
began to pass them through her fingers.
"I don't know what you mean," she said again. "I don't understand."
Quite suddenly Serracauld laughed; and, passing his arms over hers,
caught her hands, so that the cards fluttered to the table.
"Nonsense!" he said in a sharp, whispering voice--"nonsense! The
prettiest woman of the season not understand!"
He laughed again, and with a swift movement freed her hands; and,
clasping her suddenly and closely, forced her head backwards and bent
his face to hers.
The action was not so much a kiss, as a vehement, almost painful
pressure of his lips upon her mouth--something that stung her to
resentment rather than to fear.
For one instant she remained passive; the next, she had freed herself
with the muscular activity that had always belonged to her slight,
supple frame.
As she drew away from him, she was trembling and her face was white;
but there was a look he had never imagined in her eyes and on her lips.
For one moment it seemed that she meant to speak; and then her lips
closed. She turned away from him and walked out of the room without a
word.