Soon after this the music started. They rose to dance, and Betty allowed his cheek to touch hers; for although she was not in the habit of doing this with everybody, she chose to make an exception to-night. She had her reasons to justify this. One was that she wanted to show Conrad how things were done; the other, she said, was that he was perfectly safe anyway. Whatever motive lay beneath this we will leave the reader to judge. At present she closed her eyes and felt rather happy and a trifle drowsy. She was a little surprised, however, in the middle of the dance, to feel him tighten his arm about her body and move his lips closer to hers. This was so unlike the Conrad she knew—the dignified Wall Street broker. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, and smiled.
Her glance had no sooner left Conrad’s eyes than it fell upon Charles, who was not far away, and who was watching her over the head of his partner, with a look of dismay, and, as it seemed to Betty, even disgust. Her first reaction was one of terror. What a frightfully compromising meeting. Then she remembered how she had refused Charles an invitation to this very establishment, without any reason for so doing. Whereupon she hated herself for the part which she was now playing. She next looked at Charles’ partner, whose lips and cheeks were painted, and hated Charles.
“Let’s sit down a moment,” she said to Conrad. “I’m tired.” She changed seats with him, saying that she wanted to see the dancers better. What was Charles doing down here, anyway, with a disreputable woman like that? And after professing to be in love with her! But he had never—yes, she knew he was in love with her! Well, she did not love Charles, so it did not matter; only she wished he had not seen her down here with Conrad; and especially after her refusal to go with him!
Oh, it all went in such hopeless circles; and here was Conrad trying to make her take another drink. “It will revive you, my dear,” he said, “and brace you up.”
She looked at him. “Thank you; I’ve had enough.”
What was to be done?
The dance ended. Charles took his partner to their table. He sat down, facing Betty. Suddenly Betty had an inspiration. She quite unexpectedly exclaimed, “Oh!” and waved her hand toward Charles, who, though surprised by this enthusiasm, responded with a laugh. He presently arose and walked over to their table, said hello to Conrad, and rallied Betty on the inconsistencies of Fortune, “Which,” he said, “will never allow the most secret conspiracies to pass unobserved by others.” Betty laughed and promised to take the next dance with him, “If Christy didn’t mind”; and Christy, scowling heavily, said he did not.
The next dance came, and Charles, realizing that Conrad’s eye was upon them, retired with her to a corner, where they danced in slow circles.
“Betty,” he exclaimed, “why did you come here with him—after refusing, the other day?”
She laughed. “Why, Charles, dear, how foolish. Were you offended at that? There’s quite a difference in your ages, you know. He is a very old friend of mine. And he’s such a nice, respectable man.”