“Do, do, dear Inarime—may I?” pleaded Mademoiselle Veritassi. “It will give us all such pleasure to watch you.”
“Yes, yes,” chorused the followers.
“But I cannot dance, alas!” Inarime murmured.
“Your voice is like velvet, and yet clear though so softly murmurous. Do not fear. It is quite simple. Pray be persuaded. Captain Karapolos will guide you.”
Inarime suffered herself to be led across the room to the spot where the couples were noisily forming themselves. Just then she saw Rudolph Ehrenstein enter with the Baroness von Hohenfels on his arm, who surveyed the young people through her face-à-main with a complacent smile. The smile intensified when Inarime came under its rays, while Rudolph and Andromache were looking far too eloquently at each other. Inarime understood the mute avowal of momently wedded orbs, and a thrill of remembered delight and anguish swept over her like a blast.
O bliss too fleeting, and O pain too sweet!
CHAPTER XXII. FORESHADOWING A CRISIS IN RUDOLPH’S CAREER.
The constant dropping of the waters of opposition upon the stone of Pericles’ obstinacy showed the proverbial result. It was worn away in a few days, at the end of which time he yielded to his brother’s persuasions and admitted that a daughter is a ticklish charge for one sane man, only armed with the controlling influences of a father. His girl, he at first argued, was not quite as other girls—she was steadfast, sincere and earnest. He had not yet perceived any tendency in her to the sex’s frantic moodishness and dizzy variations. True, the god Cupid had mastered her at a single glance with alarming urgence. But an antique-modern Greek found excuse in his heart for the headstrong vagaries of the eternally youthful god. He announced himself ready to transfer his responsibilities to Oïdas, if he proved acceptable to Inarime. He was not exuberant at the prospect, nor in the least hurry. But he permitted Oïdas to visit with prospectively nuptial intentions, and left the rest to the gods.