CHAPTER XII.
KATHERINE HUNT'S STRATEGY.
"Is there any place where we can be alone?" said Kitty.
"Why?" asked Keith.
"I cannot dance," she said again; "my heart beats too fast."
Keith could observe through the cobweb lace which was fastened across her neck that her heart was beating far too fast for health and prudence. He looked at her earnestly. Her eyes were raised to his, and something of the passion which blazed in them was communicated to his breast. His intense unwillingness to fling himself at her feet—his almost aversion to her when he had learned a few days ago that she had committed a crime punishable by the law—left him. He said in a choking voice,—
"You want supper; I will get you a glass of champagne. Come with me."
He led her through the throng, put her into a cool seat by an open window, and brought her some champagne. She drank a glassful, and then handed the glass back to him. He laid it down. From where they sat the dreamy music of the band, the rhythmic steps of the dancers, the buzz of conversation, seemed far off and almost unreal. A curtain, gracefully arranged, almost concealed the figure of Kitty Hepworth; but the reflection of some fairy lamps in the wide balcony outside fell across her face, and Keith thought he had never seen such dark and such lovely eyes before.
Close to them, unseen and unnoticed, stalked the god of war. If it were given to him to smile, he must have smiled then as he saw the young pair, for Keith suddenly bent forward and took Kitty's hand in his own.