CHAPTER XXIII
THE BALL CONTINUES
Groups were strolling in and out among the gardens. Armitage caught the pale flashes of fans and gowns; the cigarette lights of the men glowed among the shrubbery like fireflies. The moon was full, shining through rifted clouds, and the ocean, murmuring at the foot of the cliffs, stretched away to the starry horizon. The lamps of the Brenton's Reef light vessel seemed close enough to touch, and farther out the lights of a deep sea tug with a string of coal barges astern moved slowly down the coast.
As Jack threw away his cigarette preparatory to going into the house, Anne Wellington stepped through the door, laughing back at Koltsoff, who was following her. Jack averted his head and as he did so the girl turned to her companion.
"Pardon me for one second," she said.
"Are n't you going to ask me to dance?" she said in a low voice as she confronted Armitage.
He smiled. "Oh, certainly!"
"Oh, there is precedent," laughed Anne. "Was n't it Dick Turpin who danced with the Duchess of—of something, once?"
"But he was hanged later."
"Not for that." She stood for a moment regarding him and decided that no man at the ball was better to look at in any way. "I am a good American to-night," she said slowly. "I—I thought you might be interested to know."