With Edge Tools

by H. C. Chatfield-Taylor

A glance of reproof was her only reply, for Walter Sedger came to claim a dance, and she had just time to promise the next but one to Duncan before she was whirled away into the gliding throng. Duncan's eyes followed her for a moment; she saw his glance and a slight tinge of color came into her cheek. In a moment she was lost amid the dancers. Mechanically she danced a waltz and a polka, scarcely noticing her partner's remarks, for in her heart she felt a strange apprehension that she could not understand. There was a fascination in Duncan's personality she dared not attempt to explain.

When the first strains of Duncan's dance began, he came to her immediately, and, without speaking, quietly took her hand and placed his arm gently about her waist; then, catching the time of the music, they glided away into a dreamy waltz. It was their first dance together, and as he guided her gracefully and easily through the whirling maze of waltzers, Marion felt that she had never really danced before. Silently they waltzed awhile, enjoying the delicious excitement of the movement, then he said softly: "I have never understood the power of the dance before, but to-night our steps, gliding together to this glorious music, seem to me like the love of two natures, who feel and act in perfect unison."

Marion looked up silently until her eyes met his glance; she grew icy cold, but she could feel the quick throb of each pulse beat. Duncan pressed her gently nearer, but she drew back and tossed her head forcibly away. She laughed a hollow little laugh at the fear in her heart, for here at least she was mistress of herself. Rhythmically their steps moved on to the enchanting music. Marion closed her eyes and tried to shut out the thoughts in her heart. In the darkness she seemed to be carried softly on through space, like some spirit borne away in the arms of dreamy happiness. Duncan drew her closer to his side; she felt a delicious sense of joy, such as she had never known before, and, almost dizzy, she glided on over the shining floor, her heart beating with wild, delightful pleasure. The music stopped. For a moment they danced on, but the dream had faded; she was back in the noisy, humming world of people.

Marion had arrived so late that people were already flocking toward the supper table. She had long before promised to take supper with Walter Sedger, who was to lead the cotillon; but when he appeared, she suggested that as Duncan was alone he had better join them. So the three wandered down-stairs and entered the supper-room. The weird Hungarian Czardas was being played by the Tzigans in the hallway, and it seemed to Marion that it did not harmonize with the clattering plates and the laughter. She had once heard that fantastic melody in Buda, and then it created strange sensations of unrest and aroused the wildest feelings of her nature. In her present state of mind she felt thankful for the noisy rattle of the supper-room.

The tables were placed in a large, oblong room, and were arranged for parties of four or six, but Marion, being a patroness, was conducted to a large, round table at the farther end, reserved for the managers and their friends. She hoped that the presence of other people would spare her the necessity of talking much, but at first she was obliged to manufacture conversation, in order to keep her two companions amused. Duncan made no attempt to conceal the fact that the presence of Sedger was distasteful to him, and he amused himself by delivering occasional satirical remarks upon the latter's conversation which did not tend to improve the relations between the two men. Accidentally, however, both Duncan and Sedger were drawn into the general talk of the table, and Marion was left to herself. She felt lonesome, in spite of the gaiety around her, and realized that there is no loneliness so deep as that which comes amid merriment one cannot join. She looked about at the pretty faces and the brilliant colors made brighter by the lights; she saw the sparkling eyes and glittering diamonds, she heard merry laughter mingling with the rattling dishes and scurrying feet, but all seemed hollow and far away. She knew that she had just been brought under the influence of an unknown power, and she was faintly endeavoring to collect her senses and understand herself. Almost unwarned she had felt impetuous love flash forth in her heart, and now, in a dazed sort of way, she was trying to bring her mind to act. She was impressionable and reckless, but not so reckless as quite to forget her position. One thought grew strongest in her mind; it was fear. She was brought back to her surroundings by a remark addressed to her by Mrs. McSeeney: "You look quite pale, my dear, are you ill?"

"Not in the least," replied Marion, smiling faintly, "but this room seems close. Don't you think so?"

"I had not noticed it," was the answer spoken equivocally.

The supper was somehow worried through. As they were leaving the table Walter Sedger said: "I have saved the seats of head couple for you, Mrs. Sanderson; if you will come with me, I will show them to you. I lead alone, but I hope you will permit me to take you out for an occasional extra turn."

"I shall be delighted," Marion replied. Sedger gave her his arm, and Duncan, glowering more than ever, was obliged to wander on behind.

The musicians' gallery did not project into the ball-room, but was supported by columns in the hall outside. Just under it an attractive nook had been arranged, with palms and foliage plants, a rug and a divan. The lights were kept low and the palms were so thickly placed as almost to conceal the people who might chance to sit there. At each side of this recess was a door leading into the ball-room, and as Marion and her two companions were passing through the one at the right, they met Florence Moreland and Roswell Sanderson coming out.