“As though I had suddenly become frozen,” I answered. “It is the same sensation as when I entered that room at Gloucester Square.”
“Impossible!” she cried in alarm.
“Yes,” I said; “it is unaccountable—quite unaccountable.”
The circumstance was absolutely beyond credence. I stood there, for a few minutes, leaning upon her arm, which she offered me, and slowly the curious sensation died away, until a quarter of an hour afterwards I found myself quite as vigorous as I had been before. Neither of us, however, danced again, but lighting a cigar, I spent some time strolling with her up and down the terrace, enjoying the calm, warm, starlit night.
We discussed my mysterious seizure a good deal, but could arrive at no conclusion.
After some hesitation I broached the subject which was very near my heart.
“I have heard nothing of late of Chetwode,” I said. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” she responded. “His regiment has left Hounslow for York, you know.”
“And he is in York?”