An uneasy consciousness of Katherine crossed his mind once and again with a dull ache of self-reproach, all the more insistent from his realization that its cause was not so much the infidelity to Katherine as that Hilda would think him a sorry villain.
Katherine seemed to be dancing and enjoying herself. She knew that his energy this evening was on Hilda’s account; he had claimed the responsibility for Hilda. Katherine would not consider herself neglected, of that Peter felt sure, relying, with perhaps a display of the dulness she had discovered in him, upon her confidence and common sense. Outwardly, at least, he would never betray that confidence; there was some rather dislocated consolation in that.
Hilda was a little breathless when he came to claim her for the second cluster of waltzes. It was near the end of the evening.
“I have been dancing steadily,” she announced, “and twice down to supper! Did you try any of the narrow little sandwiches? So good!”
“And you still don’t grudge me my waltzes?”
“I like yours best!” she said, smiling at him as she laid her hand on his shoulder. They took a few turns around the room and then Hilda owned that she was a little tired. They sat down again on the sofa.
“Hilda!” said Odd suddenly, “will you think me very rude if I ask you why you refused Allan Hope?”
Hilda turned a startled glance upon him.
“No; perhaps not,” she answered, though the voice was rather frigid.
“You don’t think I have a right to ask, do you?”