She went round like one moving in a dream; her eyes looking straight before her in a fixed gaze, her lips curved with a forced smile. After a moment or two she grew warmer; the blood began to circulate, a hectic flush started out on her cheeks.
Any one seeing her would have thought she was enjoying herself amazingly; would not have suspected that her heart was racked by agony; that the music was beating upon her brain, inflicting pain with every stroke; that she longed, with an aching longing, to be in the dark, in her own room, alone with her unspeakable misery.
One talks glibly enough of women's sufferings; but not one of us ever comes near gauging them, for the gods who have denied them some things have granted to the least of them the great power of enduring in silence, of smiling while they suffer, of murmuring commonplaces while the iron is cutting deeper and deeper into their souls. The nobler the woman the greater this power of hers; and there was much that was noble in poor Nell. And as she danced, those who looked at her were full of admiration or envy. She was so young; her loveliness was so untainted by the world; the delicate droop of the pure lips was so childlike, while it hinted of the deeper nature of the woman, that many who regarded her and then glanced at the professional beauty, mentally accorded Nell the palm.
And among them was Drake. He had gone straight to the smoking room, had lit a cigarette, and, pacing up and down, had, with stern lips and frowning brows, revolved the problem which fate had set him.
He swore under his breath, after the manner of men, as he went over the scene with Luce. What devil of ill chance had sent her down there? And why—why had she changed her mind? Was it really true that she—cared for, him still? He could scarcely believe it; and yet the caress of her hand, the look in her eyes, the—the—kiss——He flung the cigarette away—for he had bitten it in two—and fumed mentally. And what did she mean, think? Was it possible that she thought he could go back to her?
He laughed grimly, in mockery of the idea. Why, even if there had been no Nell, he could not have gone back to Luce. And there was Nell! Yes, thank God! there was Nell, his dear, sweet, beautiful Nell! His girl love, the girl who was like a pure star shining in God's heaven compared with a flame from—yes, from the nethermost pit. Love! He, who now knew what love meant, laughed scornfully at the idea in connection with Lady Luce. Passion it might be—but love! And she had left him with a kiss, as if she were convinced that she had recovered him! Oh, it was damnable, damnable!
Why—why, she might even behave in the ballroom as if—as if she had a right to claim him! She might even tell the Chesneys that—that——
He strode out of the smoking room in time to see the Chesney party taking their departure. As Lady Luce shook hands with the hostess and murmured her thanks for "a delightful evening"—and for once they were genuine and no idle formula—he saw her glance round the room as if in search of some one; but he drew back out of sight.
Then, when they had gone, he reëntered the ballroom and his eyes sought Nell. She met them, and he smiled, but rather anxiously, with a feeling of disquietude; for there was——Was there something strange in the expression of her face? But as she smiled back—can one imagine what that smile cost Nell?—he drew a breath of relief, found a partner, and joined in the dance.
By this time the party had reached the after-supper stage, and the waltzes had grown faster. A set of lancers had been danced with so much spirit and enjoyment that it had been encored. Some of the men were talking and laughing just a little loudly, and the women's faces were flushed with the one glass of champagne which is generally all they permit themselves, the spell of the music, and the excitement of rapid and rhythmical movement. Couples found their way into the anterooms and recesses, or sat very close together in corners of the great, broad staircase.