But her head now was turned away; she was apparently deeply interested in the crowd below.
"Oh, Peter," she exclaimed lightly, "do look at Mrs. Opert in that girlish 1840 costume. Did you ever see anything more ludicrous? Do look at her huge feet in those wee sandals. There's Jimmy Ransome talking to her now——"
Again she tried to withdraw her hand and still he held her fast. She turned to him with a frown.
"Peter," she said, "if you are going to be foolish, I'll go."
"What do you call being foolish?" he retorted. "Holding your hand? I held you in my arms just now while we danced."
"I call it being foolish, Peter," she retorted coolly. "Would you rather I called it disloyal?"
"You are too clever to do that, Rosemary," he rejoined, "disloyalty being so essentially a feminine attribute."
"Peter!"
"Oh, I know! I know!" he went on, quite slowly, and then suddenly released her hand. "Presently you will be Jasper's wife, the wife of my best friend. And if I happen to hold your hand just one instant longer than convention permits I shall be called disloyal, a cad—any ugly word that takes your fancy for the moment. So I must become less than a friend—less than a distant cousin—I must not hold your hand—the others may—I may not. They may come near you, look into your eyes—see you smile—my God! Rosemary, am I never to look into those glorious eyes of yours again?"
For a moment it seemed as if she was going to give him a direct answer, a soft flush rose to her cheeks, and there was a quick intake of her breath as if words would tumble out that she was determined to suppress. The struggle only lasted for a second. The next she had thrown bade her head and burst into a peal of laughter.