A spark flashed up into her eyes—was it possible there was a laugh in it that showed through both the affected wonder and the actual fear?
"What in the world do you mean?" she said; "the handkerchiefs and the hoods and—have you gone mad, Mr Percival?"
"Not a bit," said John, "nor you either. We're two very sane people. How you flashed it off in a moment might be just a woman's skill—but not to drop it on the road, not to let it be found anywhere, that's what I have always admired: it shows you have great force, and it really looked, you'll forgive me for saying, as if you had done such a thing before."
She turned round, swerving a little from his side. "If you're exposed it's your own fault," she cried, hurriedly, and in a very low tone. "I am afraid to dance with you any more."
"Oh, you need not be afraid," said John. "I am not mad: and I will not publish it, not at least at this moment; but stand still, or I'll not answer for what I may do."
She stood still, a thrill running through her; but even at that moment contrived to make her tremor invisible to the others, with glances towards him and elevations of her eyebrows, and little movements of her hands. She was no soft girl to be crushed by anything he would do, but a resolute woman meaning to fight every step, and with all the odds in her favour, well known and popular, whereas himself nobody knew.
"Perhaps this is not the best moment," said John, "but I thought I must warn you. I was very much taken in, and you must have had your laugh at me: but I was awake to all the circumstances in the end."
"It is a good thing," she said, suddenly forgetting herself, "that you are awake sometimes; for a better sleeper"—then she stopped, and a deep red flush covered her face—"dreamer of dreams," she added, quietly, "I never heard of. Did you dream all this, Mr Percival, or is it a story got up out of a book?"
And then they danced again, extraordinary interruption to such an interview. John could not help, when he took her hand, giving it a fierce grip of hostility, almost unawares. He was brought to his senses, when it was with equal fierceness and almost equal strength returned. She was not looking at him, but moving in the dance with a smile on her face. Many a close clasp of love has been given in such circumstances, but seldom one of actual defiance and ferocity. Her eyes, though they were not on him, blazed, the colour forsook her face, and its very paleness shone. She had perhaps never looked so beautiful in her life.
"Come away, Marion, come away," said Mrs Brydon; "I cannot wait a moment longer."