Everywhere in that day there seemed to be a band somewhere playing a turkey-trot. There was such a band here, and such music was to be expected; but there was something whimsical about the fact that the tune this band struck up now was a rag-time version of "Mendelssohn's Wedding March."
Persis was so eager to be in Forbes' arms again, and the dance was so ample an excuse, that she smiled into his mask of horror. "We haven't danced for ever so long."
A wanton whoop of the violins swept away all such solemn things as honor, decency, duty. He rose and caught her in his embrace. It was the same girlish body, irresistibly warm and lithe. They swung and sidled and hopped with utter cynicism. The only remnant of his horror was a foolish, bewildered, muttered: "How could you?"
"Come to Paris?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Because I felt you still loved me as I still love you, and because I thought you were—perhaps—afraid."
"Afraid, eh?" He laughed, his professional soldier's pride on fire. "Well, I don't think you will find me a coward."
And he tightened his arm about her like a vise and spun her so dizzily that, though she was rejoiced by his brutality, the discretion that was her decalogue spoiled her rapture. She felt again that swoon of fear, and made him lead her back to their niche.
She did not know that Ambassador Tait had come in and had watched the vortex, was watching now with terror the look on Forbes' face and her answering smile. He could not hear their words—he did not need to. He knew what their import would be. The burlesque of the wedding music was the final touch of sarcasm.
Persis, ignorant of his espionage, sighed, "Oh, it is wonderful to be together again!"