"I will be there. Daphne," were the words she wrote, and though her conscience smote her as she did it, she stifled it fiercely. Had she not promised him that one dance long ago?
She met him at dinner with a face of smiling unconcern. The new force within had imbued her with a wondrous strength. She exulted in the thought of her power over him, transient though she knew it to be. Deep down in her heart she was afraid, yet was she wildly daring. It was her last night, and she was utterly reckless.
She left her note in his hand with the utmost coolness when she bade him good night in the vestibule. She bade good night to Scott also, but she met his eyes for no more than a second; and then she had to stifle afresh the sharp pang at her heart.
She went away up the stairs with Isabel, leaving them smoking over their coffee, leaving also the dreamy strains of the band, the gay laughter and movement of the happy crowd that drifted towards the ballroom.
Isabel accompanied her to her room. "You are a dear, good child," she said tenderly, as she held her for a last kiss. "I shall never forget how sweetly you gave up the thing you wanted so much."
Dinah clung to her fast for a moment or two, and her hold was passionate. "Oh, don't praise me for that!" she whispered into Isabel's neck. "I am not good at all. I am very bad."
She almost tore herself free a second later, and Isabel, divining that any further demonstration from her would cause a breakdown, bade her a loving good night and went away.
Dinah stood awhile struggling for self-control. She had been perilously near to baring her soul to Isabel in those moments of tenderness. Even now the impulse urged her to run after her and tell her of the temptation to which she was yielding. She forced it down with clenched hands, telling herself over and over that it was her last chance, her last chance, and she must not lose it. And so at length it passed; and with it passed also the pricks of conscience that had so troubled her. She emerged from the brief struggle with a sense of mad triumph. The spirit of adventure had entered into her, and she no longer paused to count the cost.
"I expect I shall be sorry in the morning," she said to herself. "But to-night—oh, to-night—nothing matters except Apollo!"
She whisked to the door and set it ajar. The dance-music drew her, drew her, like the voice of a siren. For that one night she would live again. She would feel his arm about her and the magic in her brain. Already her feet yearned to the alluring rhythm. She leaned against the door-post, and gave herself up to her dream. Yet once more the wine of the gods was held to her lips. She would drink deeply, deeply.