“Swing!”
Barclugh swung his partner with an abandon that Mollie could not resist, and then escorted her to Dr. Greydon.
When Mollie had seated herself he finished the evening’s pleasure by saying to her:
“The dance is the language of love.”
CHAPTER III
On the morning after the assembly Barclugh awoke as though from a dream. After leaving the French Minister’s mansion he went to his bachelor’s quarters on Front Street and sat in his chair trying to dispel the pictures of Mollie Greydon. Reason as he might—that she was a mere girl and he a man of the world, and he ought not to allow his fancy to dwell upon affairs of his heart when he had sterner duties to perform—still the image of that being who had awakened a new life for him clung to his brain and he could not forget it. It gave him no rest.
But the morning of the following Thursday when he was to see her again, he bounded out of bed and felt as though he could not wait for the hour to arrive. To take the carriage to Dorminghurst was his overpowering desire.
The old Colonial mansion of Dorminghurst had been the scene of many brilliant receptions; but this one, when Mollie felt that her fate was to be settled, seemed of far-reaching influence. The servants arranged the china and the tea-urn on a round mahogany table in the center of the drawing-room. Tables and chairs arranged for groups of ladies and gentlemen to sit around and sup their tea and gossip, were placed in the corners of the large room. Mollie was taking a last look at her gown when she heard the first carriage rattle along the roadway and came down the grand staircase to take her place with her parents.