"I, myself, of course!"
"You have great confidence," said Claud, "in that judgment which, as I have just told you, is incurably faulty."
"Pause a moment! One step further, and we shall have rushed headlong into a discussion on the right of private judgment, and, once begun, who knows where it would end?"
"We have a way of trending on problematical subjects, have we not?" said Claud, with a gay laugh.
He wondered at himself—his good humor was quite restored. Just a few minutes' unimportant chat with Wynifred, and he was charmed into his very best mood. She annoyed and fascinated at the same moment, she acted like a tonic, always stimulating, never cloying. What she might say next was never certain, and the uncertainty kept him always on the qui vive. He could imagine no pleasure more subtle.
He began to understand his danger more completely than heretofore. To-night he realised that a continued acquaintance with Miss Allonby could have but one end. Was there yet time to save himself? Would he do so if he could?
The glamor which her presence shed over his spirit showed itself by outward and visible signs, in the genial light of the grey eyes, the smiling curve of the mouth, in the whole expression of the pleasant face. In her society he was at his best, and he felt it. Everything was more enjoyable, life more vivid when she was there, she was the mental stimulus he needed.
Yielding to this happy mood, which each shared alike, they sank into seats when the music ceased, scarcely noting that the dance was over. Suddenly, in the midst of his light talk, Claud broke off short, ejaculating in surprise,
"By George, there's the tragedy queen!"
Wyn, looking up, saw Mrs. Orton in the centre of the polished floor, gracefully bidding "good night" to her hostess.