There was a round of applause, and Ten Eyck proposed "three lusty chahs and a tigress for the—er—bride and—er—groom—er."
Forbes felt as if a shell full of shrapnel had burst at his feet. Military instinct brought his heels together, and he stood as erect as Dreyfus did when they tore the buttons from his tunic and snapped his sword in two before him. He stared at the revel that broke out around Persis and Enslee. In his eyes it had something of the hideousness of savages dancing. It was a torture dance, and he was the man at the stake.
CHAPTER XLI
FORBES tried to smile, but his muscles seemed unable to support his lips. He heard much noise, yet distinguished nothing till he seemed to wake suddenly at finding Willie Enslee smirking up at him.
"You haven't congratulated me, Mr. Ward—er—Forbes."
Forbes seized Enslee's small hand and wrung it, and said in a tone more fitted to condolence:
"I do congratulate you, indeed, and Miss Cabot, I—I congratulate her."
He tried to look at her, but Willie was clinging to his hand and driveling on: "I want to thank you for—er—at least trying to save her when her horse bolted this morning. They told me you were—er—quite splendid, and I take it as a—er—personal favor."
"Don't mention it, please."