She did so, hastily. The cards were dealt. She put her hand on his shoulder, looking at his cards.
“It’s good,” she cried, “isn’t it?”
He did not answer, but threw down two cards. It moved him more strongly than was comfortable, to have her hand on his shoulder, her curls dangling and touching his ears, whilst she was roused to another man. It made the blood flame over him.
At that moment Sam Adams appeared, florid and boisterous, intoxicated more with himself, with the dancing, than with wine. In his eyes the curious, impersonal light gleamed.
“I thought I should find you here, Elsie,” he cried boisterously, a disturbing, high note in his voice.
“What made you think so?” she replied, the mischief rousing in her.
The florid, well-built man narrowed his eyes to a smile.
“I should never look for you among the ladies,” he said, with a kind of intimate, animal call to her. He laughed, bowed, and offered her his arm.
“Madam, the music waits.”
She went almost helplessly, carried along with him, unwilling, yet delighted.