"Very well—the third waltz," she echoed.
There was no question of splitting it up. No man dared make the suggestion. Something in the Roman's manner and Mary's look gave every one the idea that they knew each other well, that no one must try to interfere between them.
XVI
Although her Roman Prince had looked so grave, Mary argued to herself that he could hardly be angry, or he would not have asked her to dance. Yet she half dreaded, half longed for the third waltz.
As a schoolgirl she had shared with Marie Grant the distinction of dancing more gracefully than any other pupil. A girl who has danced well and has a perfect ear for music does not forget; and after the first waltz on the smoothly waxed deck Mary felt as if she had been dancing every night for the last four years.
When the moment arrived, Vanno came and took her away from the Maharajah of Indorwana. He did not speak or smile, and they began at once to dance. Their steps went perfectly together, and he held her strongly, though at first he kept her at an unusual distance. Then, as though involuntarily, he drew her close, so that she could feel his heart beating like something alive, in prison, knocking to come out, and her own heart quickened. A slight giddiness made her head spin, and she asked to stop before the music sobbed itself to sleep.
"I have something I want to say to you," Vanno began. "Will you come with me where we can speak alone, without being interrupted?"
"I—I am engaged to four partners for the next dance," Mary stammered, laughing a little. She wished to hear what he had to say; she wished to stay with him, yet his voice made her afraid. And it was true that she did not like to break her promise.
"I beg that you will come with me," Vanno persisted. He did not say that he would not make her late for the others. He meant to take her away from them altogether, if he could.