Dinah began to feel feverish. It seemed so imperative that she should
miss nothing good during this brief, brief time of happiness vouchsafed
her by the gods.
Her frame of mind when she entered the ballroom was curious. Mutiny and
doubt, longing and dread, warred strangely together. But the moment he
came to her, the moment she felt his arm about her, rapture came and
drove out all beside. She drank again of the wine of the gods, drank
deeply, giving herself up to it without reservation, too eager to catch
every drop thereof to trouble as to what might follow.
He caught her mood. Possibly it was but the complement of his own. Freely
he interpreted it, feeling her body throb in swift accord to every
motion, aware of the almost passionate surrender of her whole being to
the delight of that one magic dance. She was reckless, and he was
determined. If this were to be all, he would take his fill at once, and
she should have hers. Before the dance was more than half through, he
guided her out of the labyrinth into the darkly curtained recess that led
out to the verandah, and there holding her, before she so much as
realized that they had ceased to dance, he gathered her suddenly and
fiercely to him and covered her startled, quivering face with kisses.
She made no outcry, attempted no resistance. He had been too sudden for
that. His mastery was too absolute.
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