"No!"
He began to dance with Adèle Vickers, but not as the others, not with the same immoderate abandon. She noted this swiftly.
At last, in a pause between the dances, to Doré's relief, a footman, entering, announced:
"Miss Baxter's car is waiting."
It was an effect she had carefully planned, taking a full half-hour to lead Stacey Van Loan to an innocent participation. A group came up, protesting, acclaiming the discovery of her name—as she had wished.
"Oho! Miss Baxter, is it?"
"We won't let you go!"
"The fun's just beginning!"
"My chauffeur can wait!" said Doré superbly, perceiving the danger of an open retreat before this over-excited group. Her curiosity was satisfied. She began to foresee what she did not wish to witness, ugliness appearing from behind the carnival mask of laughter. She began to glance apprehensively at Harrigan Blood, who clung to her side, wondering how she could elude him. Then, as the group of protestants broke up, Sassoon, advancing deliberately, in that silken effeminate voice that expected no refusal, said abruptly: "Miss Baxter, where do you live?"
She was on the point of an indignant answer, but suddenly checked herself. She gave the address, but in a sharp muffled tone, boiling with anger within, with a quick resolve to punish him later.