Society had let itself go for once, and there was a madness of enthusiasm in the air.
Sir William Gouldesbrough stood there smiling. He entered into the spirit of the whole thing and bowed to the ovation, laughing with pleasure, radiant with boyish enjoyment.
He felt Marjorie's hand upon his arm quiver with excitement, and he felt that she was his at last!
She stood by his side, her face a deep crimson, and it was as though they were a king and queen returning home to the seat and city of their rule.
It was so public an avowal, chance had been so kind, fortune so opportune, that Sir William knew that Marjorie would never retrace her steps now. It was an announcement of betrothal for all the world to see! It was just that.
Lady Poole, who was supping with Sir Michael Leeds, the great millionaire who was the prop and mainstay of the English Church, pressed a lace handkerchief to her eyes.
The bewildering enthusiasm of the moment caught her too. She rose from her seat—only a yard or two away from the triumphant pair—and went up to them with an impulsive gesture.
"God bless you, my dears!" she said in a broken voice.
Marjorie bowed her head. She drooped like a lovely flower. Fate, it seemed to her, had taken everything out of her hands. She was the creature of the moment, the toy of a wild and exhilarating environment.
She gave one quick, shy glance at Sir William.