She went on to the dance and Gallatin watched her until she disappeared. He was alone in the dining-room. Through the door by which she had gone came the sound of the piano and the chatter of gay voices. Through the other door he could see a jovial group of his familiars sitting around a table in the center of which was a tall bottle bearing a familiar label, his Enemy enthroned as usual in this company. He was like a vessel in the chop of two tides, one of which would bring him to a safe port and the other to sea.
He looked away, hesitated, then walked hastily to the Colonial sideboard where he drew a cup of hot coffee and drank it quickly. Then he followed Nina into the dancing-room.
He waited impatiently until the dance was finished, and then, when Jane Loring was left for a moment alone, with more valor than discretion, went up to her.
“Jane,” he whispered, “you’ve got to give me a moment alone.”
She turned away, but he stood in front of her again.
“It’s all a mistake, if you’ll let me explain——”
“Let me pass, please.”
“No, not until you promise to listen to me—to-night. I’ll go in your machine, and then——”
“I’m sorry. There’s no room for you, Mr. Gallatin.”