“Am I too late for a dance?” asked Reuben, turning with deference to Miss Cardozo.
She handed him her card with a faint smile; there were two or three vacant places on it.
A great fortune (I am quoting Esther), though it always brings proposals of marriage, does not so invariably bring invitations to dance. Caroline Cardozo was a plain, thin, wistful girl, with a shy manner that some people mistook for stand-offishness, who was declared by the men of the Leunigers’ set to be without an atom of “go.”
Her wealth and importance notwithstanding, she was, as Rose in her capacity of hostess explained, difficult to get rid of.
Reuben, his dance duly registered, stood talking urbanely, while scrutinizing from beneath his lids the pair on the balcony.
A nearer view showed him the unmistakable devotion on Bertie’s little fair face, which was lifted close to Judith’s; he appeared to be devouring her with his eyes.
And Judith?
It seemed to Reuben that never before had he seen that light in her eyes, never that flush on her soft cheek, never that strange, indescribable, almost passionate air in her pose, in her whole presence.
His own heart was beating with a wild, incredulous anger, an astonished contempt. He to be careful of Judith; he to beware of engaging her feelings too deeply, he, who after all these years had never been able to bring that look into her eyes!
Bertie? it was impossible!