She gave a low laugh of delight. He convinced himself that she had entered into the light spirit of banter in which he believed that he was talking.
The music ceased again. He whirled her to the seat where he had left Mrs. Bowen. She was not there, nor the others.
Colville felt the meanness of a man who has betrayed his trust, and his self-contempt was the sharper because the trust had been as tacit and indefinite as it was generous. The effect of Mrs. Bowen's absence was as if she had indignantly flown, and left him to the consequences of his treachery.
He sat down rather blankly with Imogene to wait for her return; it was the only thing they could do.
It had grown very hot. The air was thick with dust. The lights burned through it as through a fog.
"I believe I will take off my mask," she said. "I can scarcely breathe."
"No, no," protested Colville; "that won't do."
"I feel faint," she gasped.
His heart sank. "Don't," he said incoherently. "Come with me into the vestibule, and get a breath of air."
He had almost to drag her through the crowd, but in the vestibule she revived, and they returned to their place again. He did not share the easy content with which she recognised the continued absence of Mrs. Bowen.