“For that very reason I have not endeavoured to perform what you once dubbed as an absurd antic,” I said gallantly.
“And for that reason also you ought not to speak quite so frankly,” she replied coquettishly. “But, nevertheless, you will be a perfect angel if you really bring Jack back again. Indeed, I almost feel prompted to kiss you now.”
“I am sure I have no objection,” I answered laughing. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“No, but now I’m a woman kissing isn’t proper,” she answered, with a little moue, and laughing brightly, added: “I think our conversation is drifting as usual into a dangerous channel. Come, let us go back.”
We turned, and as we re-entered the room, which buzzed with the soft sibilation of Society small-talk, a partner claimed her for a waltz at that moment commencing, and as she was whirled away she laughed lightly at me across his shoulder.
Chapter Fifteen.
Beneath the Rouge.
In no mood to participate in the gaiety, I went to the library and wrote a long telegram which I addressed to “Harding, Hotel Trombetta, Turin,” explaining that if he feared arrest for any crime his fears were groundless, as no warrant was out, and urging him to return to Dora if only for a few days. This I despatched by my own man to Gretton station, to be transmitted the first thing in the morning. Afterward I again sought Mabel.