"Only with your permission," she answered.
He heard the note of pleading in her voice, but he would not notice it.
"Oh, I can't let you off!" he said lightly. "Gwen would never forgive me. Besides, I don't want to."
She said no more, probably realising that he meant to have his way. They talked upon indifferent topics in the midst of the general buzz of merriment till, supper over, they separated.
"I shall come for that midnight dance," were Carey's last words, as he bowed and left her.
And during the hour that intervened he kept a sharp eye upon her, lest her evident reluctance to remain should prove too much for her integrity. He was half amused at his own tenacity in the matter. Not for years had a chance acquaintance so excited his curiosity.
A few minutes before midnight he was standing before her. The last dance of the evening had just begun. Gwen had decreed that everyone should stop upon the stroke of twelve, while every mask was removed, after which the dance was to be continued to the finish.
"Shall we go upstairs?" suggested Carey.
To his surprise he felt that the hand she laid upon his arm was trembling.
"By all means," she answered. "Let us get away from the crowd!"