She wanted to break away and warn her at once. This might make a scene. She would wait until the dance was over. She lost sight of her entirely.
Never before had a waltz seemed so long. She glided in and out among the corn shocks, in and out, in and out, until it seemed to her that dawn must come and a new day begin.
When at last the music stopped she fairly tore herself from her partner and was away on her quest. But where was that white fairy? Ten minutes of frantic search convinced her that she was too late. Verna was not there. Neither was the red devil.
Sick at heart, she crept away to the dressing room. There she sank into a chair to surrender herself to despair. But not for long. Before her was a wooden bench. On this bench lay a large suit of rough coveralls, a pair of cotton gloves and an ugly mask. This was a corn husker’s outfit abandoned by one of the masqueraders. Ten minutes later Florence had vanished; so too had the coveralls, mask and gloves.
Fifteen minutes later the red devil and the exquisite fairy might have been seen walking along a narrow bridle path, lined on either side by tall bushes. The red devil, if observed by some old, wise person, would have been said to be in the act of practicing his art. He was doing, at that moment, nothing that might be called reprehensible. He was in the act of beguiling the exquisite fairy. That was all.
Surely no more perfect setting could have been found for a love tryst. The moon, full and golden, hung over great masses of dark foliage. The air was filled with faint noises, the chirp of a cricket, the rasping of a katydid, the call of some bird in his sleep, the distant bay of a hound. The air touched the fairy’s cheek like a faint caress.
“You are beautiful,” the red devil murmured low.
“Oh!” the fairy breathed.
“More lovely than a flower, more delicate than a rose, more graceful than—”
The red devil broke off suddenly to listen. “Thought I heard a sound.” His voice took on a sudden gruffness.