"Once more around the room," said Dunce, "once more past Gertrude, the great Human Vampire-steady—once more past the gang of glarers," meaning the chaperons, "steady; and then out that little door to the right. See? and then find old Sard, see? and then a nice long spin out in the moonlight. Who wants to dance this sizzling night?"
"All—right," breathed Minga, "all right. Say, Dunce," but while she smiled and shook her head at him for the benefit of the observing Bunch, Minga's voice was trembling, "say, Dunce, you aren't a good—good sort—or anything like that, are you?"
The boyish arm tightened. "I'm any old thing you want," he said gruffly. "I'm any old thing you need, Minga."
Meanwhile Sard sat waiting for them, the soft summer night cooling the cheeks Tawny had made feverish.
"So that's the way Minga's law works out," thought the girl slowly, "and the law of Minga's Bunch! She never even fancied this Tawny Troop. She took him away from another girl just for the fun of wearing his ring, and now Gertrude plays the same game. And Gertrude, because she works for it, has more power than Minga." Sard, leaning forward, looking into the ballroom, watched Minga and Dunce finish the dance; she saw them throw back their heads and laugh together.
As Dunstan and his partner joined her, Sard rose. "Did you ask Mr. Shipman if he would join us?" she questioned her brother; "where is he?" But Watts, it seemed, could not be found, and to Sard's surprise Minga seemed nearly frenzied as she stood there trembling like a frightened child.
"Sard," the girl urged breathlessly, "the music isn't very good, is it? Do you want to stay very much? Mr. Shipman has g-gone up the mountain; he wanted to—to turn in early on account of the case to-morrow. Sard," Minga gulped, "I think this is a stupid dance, don't you? Shall we go—— Come on!"
Minga's eyes had deep shadows under them; her face, under its not too well put on color, was piteous and woebegone. Dunstan chafed helplessly; no one had ever before seen Minga like this. It was insufferable that any stranger should see it. The youth tucked her arm under his and called up all his powers of gay loquacity.
"You aren't all fed up, Minga—not you. Oh, you little worn out society dame! Music not jazzy enough, and she says 'the floor is gritty'; we'll have to fix that. What!" Dunstan, looking over his partner's head, raised his eyebrows at his sister. He nodded violently and said with deaf-mute's emphasized lips, "Take her home!"
Suddenly Sard understood. Gertrude's propaganda had had its deadly effect. Neither she nor Minga had their usual eager partners. The Tawny Troop stag line of "cut-ins" was being marshaled for Gertrude and one or two cronies. Curiously enough the "Minga Bunch," the devil-may-care, unrestrained crowd had turned and rended its gay little leader. The usual way had been taken. It was not a very new way; the way of gray-haired men and women for other more devoted and more highly inspired leaders, that of unanswerable personal slander.