"Not a bit," says Tita. "It's all nonsense! Now come in—I want to dance. And remember—remember, Tom, you have promised not to breathe a word about what I have told you."
"I promise," says Hescott in a slow sort of way; he is thinking.
When they reach the dancing-room they find it, comparatively speaking, empty, save for a few enthusiastic couples who are still careering round it.
"Supper must be on," says Hescott. "Come and have something."
* * * * *
As they enter the supper-room several people look at them. To Rylton, who is standing near Mrs. Bethune, these glances seem full of impertinent inquiry. In reality they mean nothing, except admiration of his wife. To-night Lady Rylton has been pronounced by most of those present the prettiest woman in the room. Hescott pilots his charming companion to a low lounge in a corner of the room, a place at any of the tables being impossible to get. But Rylton decides that he has taken her to that secluded spot to make more conspicuous his flirtation with her; and she—she seems only too ready to help him in his plan.
The fact that he is frowning heavily is conveyed to him by a voice at his elbow.
"Don't look so intense—so like a thirteenth-century conspirator!" says Mrs. Bethune. Her eyes are full of laughter and mischief—there is something of triumph in them too. "What does it matter, after all?"
"True." He gives her a brilliant smile in return for her rather mocking one. "Nothing matters—except the present moment. Let us consider it. Are you engaged for this dance?"
"Yes; but I can manage to forget my partner."