"I wanted to assure myself of the pleasure. One is easily lost among all these people," he answered lightly, as he turned away.
Farr's face darkened.
"What right has Maynard to monopolize you?" he demanded savagely. "He is a married man, and not a man——"
It was an unwise speech, and he broke off abruptly convicted of his folly by the expression in Jean's unflinching eyes.
"You forget that Mr. Maynard is our host, Mr. Farr," she said coldly.
After a moment she added more gently:
"I did not want you to say anything that you would regret. I should be sorry to hear you speak ill of a friend. It is not like you."
The simple words touched Farr, and made him feel ashamed of himself.
"I beg your pardon," he said contritely. "I was a brute to speak so. The truth is, I am not myself, and have not been during the whole of this miserable week. I seem never to have the chance to speak with you, and I have tortured myself with the thought that it has been your deliberate purpose to avoid me."
The opening bars of the waltz, and Maynard's approach, cut short his words. Slowly the trio forced their way through the moving crowd until they had gained the entrance to the ball-room. Farr stood listlessly in the doorway as Maynard whirled Jean away from him across the polished floor. Some minutes later, someone touched his elbow and he turned with a start to meet Miss Stuart's eyes: