"So," the girl smiled a little, "you would betray your business friends in order to make a bit of money for me?"
Maillard stared at her. "Well, if you put it that way, yes! I'd do more than that for——"
"Thank you," she interrupted, her voice cold. "I don't think I'd trust your sagacity very far, Robert. Good-night."
She turned from him and was gone, dancing through the great rooms like a true Columbine. Later he saw her among the dancers above, although he obtained no further speech with her.
Midnight neared, and brought a concern to many; the Midnight Masquer had gained his name by invariably appearing a moment or two before the stroke of twelve. Jachin Fell, who divided his time between enjoying the smoking room and wandering about among the masquers, perceived that Joseph Maillard was watching the time with anxiety.
A large man, stern and a bit scornful of look, Maillard was imposing rather than handsome. He appeared the typical banker, efficient, devoid of all sentiment. Amused by the man's evident uneasiness, Jachin Fell kept him in view while the moments dragged. One might have thought that the little gray man was studying the financier as an entomologist studies a butterfly on a pin.
Shortly before twelve Columbine pirouetted up to Jachin Fell and accepted the arm he offered her. They were for the moment alone, in a corner of the ballroom.
"I must see you to-morrow, please," she breathed.
"Gladly," he assented. "May I call? It's Sunday, you know——"
"If you will; at three. Something has happened, but I cannot speak of it here. Does any one else know that you—that you are interested in my affairs?"