A provoking laugh answered him.
As the figures passed on, the mist lifted and Joan saw her path clear cut. ‘He that hath clean hands . . .’ She was out to rescue, but not to rob.
“Let’s go and dance once more,” she said quietly. “Then I’ll slip away.”
Peregrine muffled his face, and they passed back into the ball-room, the slam and stutter of ragtime and the slash of the coloured lights. . . .
As the dance ended—
“God bless you, Perry,” breathed Joan. “It’s—it’s been like heaven. You—you will be there, dear?”
Peregrine smiled back.
“Buck up, my lady.”
An instant later the girl was lost in the press.