the dance was at its height when gilbert entered the ball-room. he thought of jack iverson’s protest as the strains of the waltz from the count of luxembourg began to float over the room, played as only a viennese orchestra can play it. yet the strains were alluring to that part of him that was not the successful barrister, and his feet itched like any ordinary young man’s to be dancing. claudia, of course, would be booked up—she was, as her brother had left unsaid, a beautiful dancer—and no matter who went short of partners, claudia did not. she had been out a year, and rumour said that she had had a good many offers of marriage. an aunt, who was anxious to see her settled, had said, with annoyance, that claudia must be waiting for a prince.

gilbert caught sight of jack iverson dancing with a pretty débutante who was too plainly desirous of winning his approval. the only son, he was in the curious position of being wealthier than his own father, for an aunt, who had in the sixties married an immensely rich jew, had recently died and left all her fortune to him. why, heaven knows, unless she thought that the money would be put into quick circulation. this made young iverson a very desirable parti in the matrimonial market, and mothers of budding and blooming daughters were extremely polite to him. but jack iverson’s taste did not lie in the drawing-rooms of mayfair.

gilbert waited about, but he could not see claudia.[25] he turned away, more disappointed than he would have owned, and there, under a big palm, tapping her fan impatiently on her knee, he saw her—alone.

“claudia,” he said, going quickly up to her, “are you not dancing this?” he called all the iverson family by their christian names. he had known them in his early youth, when their country house had adjoined his father’s. when claudia was ten, their house had been sold—it was too far from town—and it was only during the last few months that he had really renewed his acquaintance with the family. lady currey had been unfeignedly glad when the iversons moved away.

claudia jumped up, all animation. “you here! i thought you couldn’t afford the time for such frivolities.”

“i can’t really, but i’ve come for an hour. i wondered if there was a chance of getting a dance with you.” the music was humming in his ears, there was a heady odour from a group of lilies beside them, and—and claudia was glad to see him. “i should not have come otherwise,” he added. he smiled at her, and though he used the smile very seldom, it was quite attractive.

she met his eyes squarely without the least bit of a flutter, but a faint flush rose to her smooth cheeks. “well, come,” she said, putting her hand within his arm. “i am engaged for this—but my partner has kept me waiting. so he can lose the dance. a laggard dancer, like a laggard lover, deserves to lose his partner.”

“blessings on his laggardism.”

“if i had been an early victorian maiden, i should have waited patiently, like a brown paper parcel, till he came to claim me.... ah, well! you dance much better than he does. he dances like a pair of animated fire tongs.”

some people dance, and others move their feet. claudia would have inspired an elephant to tread coquettishly. she had the real spirit of the dance in her, and a magnetism[26] that communicated itself to her partners, no matter how stodgy and how deep one foot was in the grave. an old colonel had once said—he was turned sixty, and out of pure good nature she had danced with him—that it was too dangerous to dance with claudia iverson. “i can’t afford to regret my youth so bitterly.” circe had had a good deal of magnetism in her youth, but it had been purely animal. with claudia it was a tantalizing blend of spirit and body.

for some time they waltzed in silence. then gilbert said involuntarily, “i’m glad i came.”

“i’m glad, too,” said claudia softly. a little strand of soft dark hair that had become unloosened swept his cheek now and again, her body gave to every movement, lithe, supple and warm. he forgot his career and the brief he had meant to study. his youth asserted itself—he had never really enjoyed it—and insolently told his maturer intellect to hold off and take a back place.

but claudia, like most women, could think of many things while she was thoroughly enjoying the dance, for women can do several things at the same time. she was thinking of his triumph the day before. many people had been talking about him the last few days, and prophesying big things for him. he was the young man of the hour, and he had left his work to come and dance with her. the thought was intoxicating.

claudia was desperately tired of the men who did nothing. her father did nothing—he sat on one or two boards, and grumbled at having to attend their monthly meetings—her brother did very little. although he was in the army, his duties sat lightly upon him, and those duties seemed to involve little or no brain power. jack confessed that the only time he thought was the few minutes when he was sitting in his bath in the morning. the man with whom she should have danced the waltz did nothing. he was vaguely going in for politics one day, in the[27] meantime he gracefully and idly existed. most of the men claudia knew, except one or two elderlies who were m.p.’s or the heads of large companies, did nothing in particular. and claudia had a great admiration for the people who did things. as a girl, she had read all the biographies of famous men that she could lay her hands upon, and she had even once had a desire to do something big herself. though she had long ago given up the idea, she still admired the vigorous men who did and thought strongly.

the dance came to an end and gilbert led her out of the room.

“i was in court yesterday,” said claudia, tucking the little strand of hair tidily away under the fillet of pink coral and pearls which she wore. she was dressed in a pastel shade of something diaphanous and soft, that harmonized exactly with the creamy tones of her skin. the only colour about her was supplied by the corals which she also wore wound in strands round her neck and drooping over the front of her corsage.

“no, were you?” said gilbert, thrilling at this evidence of her interest.

“i made uncle john take me.... i had to bribe him by promising to go and play backgammon with him two afternoons this week. but it was worth it. i—well, i should have howled if you hadn’t won the case, i was so excited. uncle john went to sleep and snored, and he says i’ve pinched him black in my indignation. isn’t it dreadful to be old and not be interested in anything for more than half an hour? he said it was the air of the courts.”

“i did make a long speech though. did you realize i was speaking for two hours? you were not there all that time?”

“yes, i was. uncle john went to get something to eat, but i never budged.”

[28]

“claudia, how sweet of you.” he came a little nearer to her and his nostrils dilated a little. no man is unmoved by the subtle flattery of a beautiful woman, and claudia was looking her best that night.

“but,” said claudia, with an abrupt change of voice, “i wish the man, the prisoner, had been more worth it. an awful poor thing, wasn’t he? even if he didn’t murder the boy, he was only a wisp of straw, wasn’t he?”

“if men and women were all fine strong characters, my services wouldn’t be required, would they?”

claudia looked thoughtful, and the brown eyes seemed to grow larger and brighter, as though some lamp were burning behind them. “no, i suppose you live on people’s weaknesses and lack of morals and stamina. oh! dear, i don’t like to think that.”

“well, don’t think it. don’t let’s talk about my work. tell me what you have been doing since i saw you last week?”

she was leaning a little forward, her elbow on her knee, and he could see the rise and fall of her bosom, the soft curves outlined by the clinging chiffon. and though he sat outwardly unmoved, something tingled within him and strained like a dog in a leash.

claudia sat up with a shrug of her shoulders. it was a little trick of hers that suited her dark eyes. “i have been gloriously doing nothing in particular, the same things as i did last year, meeting much the same people and talking much the same talk. i spent two afternoons helping at the duchess’s bazaar, and i smiled a continuous persuasive smile from ear to ear all the time, and i told a great many lies trying to sell things that were of an unutterable hideousness, and that nobody could want to buy. there was such a funny man came up to me. i tried to sell him a poker-work photo frame. ‘isn’t it charming?’ i murmured. ‘madam,’ he said, with a little twisty smile that began in his eyes and came down to his[29] lips, ‘if you will frankly tell me what you think of it, i will purchase it. your tone lacks conviction.’ ‘sir,’ i replied, ‘frankly i think it one of the ugliest things i have ever seen and nothing would induce me to have it in my room.’ ‘how much?’ said he. and he bought it. i should like to meet him again. i am sure we should be friends.”

“i wonder what he did with it?” laughed gilbert. “perhaps he put his worst enemy into it.”

“if i ever see him again i shall ask him.... have you heard about pat? she has run away from germany and come home. she says that speaking the teutonic language all day was spoiling the shape of her mouth, and there was something in the air or the water that she was sure was making her figure spread! isn’t she too quaint? she announces that she has learnt quite enough for the present, and she insists that mother shall bring her out.”

“why, she’s quite a child, surely!”

“oh, no! patsy is—let me see—nearly eighteen. mother is so annoyed. you see i keep out of her way, but pat is noisy about the house. she finds pat absolutely antagonistic to—well to the spooks and the thought waves. she had hoped pat would stay over in germany for six months and acquire a philosophic language. pat informed mother yesterday that she knew her type of good looks went off early, and she advised mother to get her safely off-hand before she began to fade.” claudia laughed heartily at the remembrance. “she’s awfully pretty. you don’t remember her?”

“i remember a small child with forget-me-not eyes and flaxen hair, who was always sitting down heavily on choice seedlings in the flower-beds and then crying because she had ‘hurted them.’”

“yes, that was patsy. but she’ll get married quite easily. she’s really sweet. she’s got little tricks with[30] her eyes, quite natural, not affected—and her eyebrows go up in a funny way that makes her look like an intelligent cock robin. by the way, have robins got eyebrows? they seem eyebrows all over, don’t they? oh! pat will make a hit when she comes out.”

gilbert looked at her curiously. did claudia not think about getting married? he hazarded a question in a bantering, rather intimate way.

“and when are you going off?”

“it sounds like a firework, doesn’t it? i don’t mind telling you in a burst of confidence that aunt lucretia thinks the squib is a little damp. it hasn’t gone bang yet! but pat will make a brilliant firework. mind you don’t get burnt.”

the music had struck up again, and claudia took up her programme with a faint sigh.

gilbert put his hand over the little white-gloved one that held the card. “who are you dancing with? never mind who it is. throw him over. yes,” he said firmly, as she protested, “i know it isn’t your usual habit. but—well, isn’t it a special night somehow? it’s my birthday for one thing and——”

“oh, is it? many happy returns. you got my photograph this morning?”

“yes, it’s on my mantelpiece now.... never mind the wretched programme.”

“but what shall i say?” she protested laughingly, for, womanlike, she loved a high-handed man who insists on getting his own way.

“say—say you prefer to dance with me.... isn’t it true, claudia? say it is.”

one hand was quite lost in his. his compelling eyes were on her face. something for an instant caught her by the throat and made her shut her eyes as she said almost under her breath, “yes, it’s true.”

they made their way back to the ball-room. more[31] than one man stopped to congratulate gilbert, and a good many women smiled up at him invitingly.

as far as claudia knew, gilbert never flirted. she had never heard his name coupled even lightly with that of any woman. and he was thirty-two! it was almost unique in her set, where sexual philandering is one of the most amusing games for passing the time. she did not realize that it was precisely for lack of time that he had not paid much attention to women. the law had been his only love. claudia was a little tired and contemptuous of the hurrying, bee-like gentleman who sips from many flowers with no distinct preference for any bloom. many such had buzzed around her, but she had kept fast closed the petals of her heart. but gilbert currey was different; yes, he was certainly different.

a pale-faced, vapid youth, the heir to a famous dukedom, was just inside the door.

“quick, that’s my real partner. he’ll grab me.”

“he won’t,” said gilbert firmly. he caught her to him a little fiercely, with all the primitive man in him awake. his mother’s warning about the bad stock from which claudia sprang was forgotten. he had decided that claudia was his. he, and he only, was going to grab her and carry her off to his wigwam. his wife would never want to be a circe. geoffrey iverson had never been worth much as a husband. like most men, gilbert had his fair share of conceit.

he guided her skilfully round the room, interposing himself and his arm between her and possible collisions, for the room was inconveniently crowded. she happily forgot the rest of the world and gave herself up to the sensuous music. but some of the gay spirit with which she had danced earlier in the evening had gone from her, a slight languor, more than a little pleasant, had stolen into her veins. the music seemed a lullaby to send her brain to sleep. she liked to feel the pressure of gilbert’s[32] arm and know that it enclosed her safely. she had danced with him before on one or two other occasions; but to-night his arm seemed to caress her. there was a curious charm in it and she abandoned herself to it. she had never before danced with anyone who had given her this sensation.

and gilbert felt the blood rushing through his veins as he would have thought impossible an hour ago. the knowledge of her liking, her nearness to him, seemed to make a little hammer pound away in his head, so that he had to set his teeth not to let himself get giddy. and gilbert, when roused, had a good deal of the masculine animal in him, only he was so seldom roused. when he was a youth at oxford his very clear and reasonable brain had warned him of a possible danger to his working powers in the delights of the flesh, and he had made himself not think about them by grinding away at his books. his work and his intellect had become an almost invulnerable armour. but to-night passion took him by the throat and he could think of nothing but the lissome pretty body in his arms. and his intellect, not quite drugged, approved of this diversion. his mother had said it was time to marry. why not combine pleasure and duty? his reason quite approved of this proceeding.

“claudia,” he said breathlessly, coming to a standstill, “it’s confoundedly hot in here. don’t you feel it. shall we—shall we try for some fresh air?”

she nodded, she did not want to speak. a beautiful dream had been roughly broken into. she had been happy in her unsubstantial dream; he—had not.

gilbert was lucky enough to find an untenanted cosy corner in a convenient angle that cut them off from the rest of the world.

“claudia, will you?” his arm was round the back of the couch ready to take her in his arms.

“will i—what?” faltered the girl. she knew what he[33] would ask, but she had not imagined being proposed to thus. she had thought the man she could love would lead up gradually with protestations, with promises, with entreaties. why did there seem no time for this? why did something hurry her into his arms, something irresistibly compelling, stronger than herself?

“will you marry me?” she tried to raise her eyes to his, and perhaps he caught a glimpse of what was in them for the next instant she felt his lips on hers, and the world rocked and then stood still.

afterwards, she wished that it had been more as her imagination had planned. though every pulse in her body still throbbed with his kisses, she yet vaguely regretted that prince charming had not come in the guise she had imagined. but that it was the real prince charming—in somewhat of a hurry and a little inarticulate—she did not doubt for a moment.

“but nothing is just as one imagines it will be,” said claudia to herself and the pillow that night. and having discovered that truth, nature kindly pulled down the blinds and she went to sleep.