She shook her head; then she corrected herself.
“Oh, yes. Arthur Drake who lived next door to us.”
“Well, I saw you in the garden from his window. You were being kissed by some terrible bounder. That was jolly for me. Why did you do that? Couldn’t you say ‘no’? Were you too lazy?”
Michael thought she moved closer to him as they danced.
“Answer me, will you; answer me, I say. Were you too lazy to resist, or did you enjoy being cheapened by that insufferable brute you were flirting with?”
Michael in his rage of remembrance twisted her hand. But she made no gesture, nor uttered any sound of pain. Instead she sank closer to his arms, and as the dance rolled on, he told himself triumphantly that, while she was with him, she was his again.
What did the past matter?
“Ah, Lily, you love me still! I’ll ask no more questions. Am I out of step?”
“No, not now,” she whispered, and he saw that her face was pale with the swoon of their dancing.
“Take off that silly mask,” he commanded. “Take it off and give it to me. I can hold you with one arm.”