“Do not remain with me, Mr. Arkwright,” I heard Miss Wedderburn say. “You want to dance. Go and enjoy yourself.”
“I could not think of leaving you alone, Miss Wedderburn.”
“Oh, yes, you could, and can. I am not going to move from here. I want to look on—not to dance. You will find me here when you return.”
Again she urged him not to remain with her, and finally he departed in search of amusement among the crowd below.
Miss Wedderburn was now alone. She turned; her eyes, through her mask, met mine through my mask, and a certain thrill shot through me. This was such an opportunity as I had never hoped for, and I told myself that I should be a great fool if I let it slip. But how to begin? I looked at her. She was very beautiful, this young English girl, with the wonderful blending of fire and softness which had made me from the first think her one of the most attractive women I had ever seen.
As I stood, awkward and undecided, she beckoned me to her. In an instant I was at her side, bowing but maintaining silence.
“You are Herr Helfen, nicht wahr?” said she, inquiringly.
“Yes,” said I, and removed my mask. “How did you know it?”
“Something in your figure and attitude. Are you not dancing?”
“I—oh, no!”