He passed on his way. As if by thought transference there flashed into Scott's mind the strange passage between Dee and the electrical repair man, his old acquaintance, Stanley Wollaston, at the famous Dangerfield "swim au naturel," and the memory of her possessed, dream-haunted face. Could T. Jameson James ever evoke that yearning? Scott knew that he could not, and a great pity for Dee filled him.
Pat left him, not to return until the party was dispersed, all but a few heavy-drinking remnants who had stood by to help Ralph Fentriss finish up the punch. Later Pat and Cary passed them on their way to the clematis arbour. The girl's face was sombre and thoughtful.
"I wish she hadn't married him," she burst out.
Scott sought to reassure her. "It's all right, dearest. As Osterhout said, we're all emotionally stirred up——"
"I wish she hadn't," persisted the girl. "It must be terrible to go away—like that—with a man—when you don't love him!"
"Oh, nonsense!" He strove for a light tone. "She does love him. Otherwise why on earth should she have married him?"
Pat's brows were knit, her gaze far away, fixed upon visions. "I wish it was us," she murmured. "You and I. Going away. To-night. Together."
"My God! Pat!"
"I do. I wish there weren't any laws. I hate laws."
The terrible, fiery desire seized him to claim her then and there, to bid her leave everything for love and go with him to the ends of the earth, to overwhelm her with the force of his desire; to make her believe that with him she would know a happiness greater, fuller, more real than anything in her petty and tinselled prospect of life; seized and scorched and convulsed him, until she felt, through the hand which she had let fall upon his arm, the tremors shake his strong frame; felt them and exulted, through her woman's dim alarms.