Jean looked up at him helplessly at a loss for an answer.
"I want the waltz very much," he added in a tone of pleading.
She laughed a bit unsteadily.
"Why, of course, I will dance with you, although I must confess your mode of asking me is very strange."
"'All is fair in——' Which is it, Jean?" he asked softly as they fell into the measure of the waltz.
She dropped her eyes, glad that at present no reply was required of her. When the last strain had died away, Farr drew her hand through his arm, and they threaded their way among the crowd out into the cool hall-way.
"Is this your wrap?" he queried, selecting one from the number that were thrown across a chair. "Now let us go outside for a little stroll."
They made their way out on to the little veranda, which on this side of the hotel was built on a ledge of rocks, and overhung the waters of Crescent Bay. Avoiding the rank and file of dancers, who were now promenading slowly up and down, they crossed to the railing and stood there gazing silently before them. In the harbor below myriads of boats lay at anchor, all gayly decorated in honor of the occasion. Further out the moon's bright radiance fell softly on the tremulous waves, and across its golden sheen a white-winged yacht sped silently on its way.
By and by, Jean roused herself with a slight effort:
"What Philistinism it is to illuminate the veranda with those ugly lanterns. Their flaring light quite spoils the effect of the moonlight."