“Yes!” she exclaimed in a tone of forced gaiety. “I’m a gypsy to-night. Shall I dance my gypsy dance?”
“Yes, yes!”
“On the table!” A pair of stout arms caught her to toss her up.
Catlike, she landed on her feet. She was angry. “But I must not! I must not be angry!” she told herself fiercely. “I must dance. Time must pass. Surely something will happen.”
Forgetting time and place, she began the weird, wild dance of the gypsies. That her audience was impressed she knew at once. So she prolonged the dance.
All things must have an end. The end of the dance found her heart all aflutter. What next?
“Bravo! Bravo!” they applauded. “That calls for refreshments.”
Taking a bottle from a concealed locker, the shortest of the trio filled four glasses.
“Now! A toast!” He passed one glass to her. “Here’s to Lorena LeMar! Here’s to the new picture!”
When the play-boys lifted their glasses Jeanne followed their example. The stuff in the glass burned her lips. The glass slipped from her hand to go crashing upon the table.