She wished that the passage were not so draughty, and that she did not feel so dumb.
Suddenly from behind a screen along the passage, rang out a clear, shrill laugh. A resounding kiss shattered the silence more boldly than a cannon shot. There followed the sound of a slap—bare flesh on flesh. A voice called, broken with laughter, "Oh, you naughty boy!"
Muriel and Godfrey sat up. Such things simply did not happen in Marshington ball-rooms.
Muriel always remembered the stiffening of Godfrey's figure. He hated so emphatically all that sort of thing. And yet, she herself shuddered with fear. For she thought that she had recognized the voice.
In another moment the orchestra would play. The next dance would begin. Probably the couple might emerge from behind the screen. It couldn't have been Connie. She was sometimes rather silly, but she would never do a thing like that. All the same, it was not safe to wait until she was sure.
Muriel never knew whether she ran away because she did not want Godfrey Neale to know, or because she did not want to know herself. She always tried to hide unpleasant truths for as long as possible.
"Isn't there rather a draught here?" she asked. "Shall we be strolling back?"
They went, and Muriel thrust misgivings from her mind.
As she undressed that night, her mother came to her.
"I think that Connie's all right now, don't you?"