“It was because of the failure,” she said. “You were the largest creditor—you disappeared—there were queries and rumors—and I thought it best to tell. I hope I did no harm.”
“On the contrary,” he said, “I am very, very grateful to know that some one thought of me.”
The music stopped. It was just in time. Another moment, and he might have said what he knew was folly. Her body close to his, his arm around her, the splendor of her bared shoulders, the perfume of her hair, the glory of her face, were overcoming him, were intoxicating his senses, were drugging him into non-resistance. The spell was broken not an instant too soon. He shook himself—like a man rousing from dead sleep—and took her back to their party.
The next instant, as she was whirled away by another, she shot him an alluringly fascinating smile, of intimate camaraderie, of understanding, which well-nigh put him to sleep again. 133
“I would that I might get such a smile,” sighed Macloud.
“You go to the devil!” said Croyden. “She has the same smile for all her friends, so don’t be silly.”
“And don’t be blind!” Macloud laughed.
“Moreover, if it’s a different smile, the field is open. I’m scratched, you know.”
“Can a man be scratched after he has won?” asked Macloud.
“More silliness!” Croyden retorted, as he turned away to search for his partner.