"But what's the matter?"
"I'll tell you as we go. No, these boots won't hurt. And I can walk in them quite well. Fetch your own things, Richard." Her one wish was to get her husband out of the building.
They stepped into the street; it was a hot night and very dark. In her thin satin dancing-boots, Mary leaned heavily on Richard's arm, as they turned off the street-pavements into the unpaved roads.
Mahony let the lights of the main street go past; then said: "And now, Madam Wife, you'll perhaps be good enough to enlighten me as to what all this means?"
"Yes, dear, I will," answered Mary obediently. But her voice trembled; and Mahony was sharp of hearing.
"Why, Polly sweetheart ... surely nothing serious?"
"Yes, it is. I've had a very unpleasant experience this evening, Richard—very unpleasant indeed. I hardly know how to tell you. I feel so upset."
"Come—out with it!"
In a low voice, with downcast eyes, Mary told her story. All had gone well till about twelve o'clock: she had danced with this partner and that, and thoroughly enjoyed herself. Then came Purdy's turn. She was with Mrs. Long when he claimed her, and she at once suggested that they should sit out the dance on one of the settees placed round the hall, where they could amuse themselves by watching the dancers. But Purdy took no notice—"He was strange in his manner from the very beginning"—and led her into one of the little rooms that opened off the main body of the hall.
"And I didn't like to object. We were conspicuous enough as it was, his foot made such a bumping noise; it was worse than ever to-night, I thought."