“Yes, it’s on my mantelpiece now.... Never mind the wretched programme.”
“But what shall I say?” she protested laughingly, for, womanlike, she loved a high-handed man who insists on getting his own way.
“Say—say you prefer to dance with me.... Isn’t it true, Claudia? Say it is.”
One hand was quite lost in his. His compelling eyes were on her face. Something for an instant caught her by the throat and made her shut her eyes as she said almost under her breath, “Yes, it’s true.”
They made their way back to the ball-room. More than one man stopped to congratulate Gilbert, and a good many women smiled up at him invitingly.
As far as Claudia knew, Gilbert never flirted. She had never heard his name coupled even lightly with that of any woman. And he was thirty-two! It was almost unique in her set, where sexual philandering is one of the most amusing games for passing the time. She did not realize that it was precisely for lack of time that he had not paid much attention to women. The Law had been his only love. Claudia was a little tired and contemptuous of the hurrying, bee-like gentleman who sips from many flowers with no distinct preference for any bloom. Many such had buzzed around her, but she had kept fast closed the petals of her heart. But Gilbert Currey was different; yes, he was certainly different.
A pale-faced, vapid youth, the heir to a famous dukedom, was just inside the door.
“Quick, that’s my real partner. He’ll grab me.”
“He won’t,” said Gilbert firmly. He caught her to him a little fiercely, with all the primitive man in him awake. His mother’s warning about the bad stock from which Claudia sprang was forgotten. He had decided that Claudia was his. He, and he only, was going to grab her and carry her off to his Wigwam. His wife would never want to be a Circe. Geoffrey Iverson had never been worth much as a husband. Like most men, Gilbert had his fair share of conceit.
He guided her skilfully round the room, interposing himself and his arm between her and possible collisions, for the room was inconveniently crowded. She happily forgot the rest of the world and gave herself up to the sensuous music. But some of the gay spirit with which she had danced earlier in the evening had gone from her, a slight languor, more than a little pleasant, had stolen into her veins. The music seemed a lullaby to send her brain to sleep. She liked to feel the pressure of Gilbert’s arm and know that it enclosed her safely. She had danced with him before on one or two other occasions; but to-night his arm seemed to caress her. There was a curious charm in it and she abandoned herself to it. She had never before danced with anyone who had given her this sensation.