Together, Runnels and his wife strolled off through the crowd,
disappearing in the direction of the north wing of the hotel.
It seemed ages before the orchestra struck up; Kirk began to fear
that something had happened to the musicians. He edged closer to
the door and searched out Chiquita with his eyes. There she was,
seated with her father, Colonel Bland from Gatun, and some high
officer or other--probably an admiral. Ramon Alfarez was draped
artistically over the back of her chair, curling his mustache
tenderly and smiling vacantly at the conversation.
Kirk ground his teeth together and set his feet as if for the
sound of the referee's whistle. He heard the orchestra leader tap
his music-stand; then, as the first strains of the waltz floated
forth, he stepped into the ballroom and made toward his
sweetheart. All at once he found that his brain was clear, his
heart-beats measured.
Of course she saw him coming; she had waited all the long evening
for this moment. He saw her hand flutter uncertainly to her
throat; then, as he paused before her, she rose without a word.
His arm encircled her waist, her little, cold palm dropped into
his as lightly as a snowflake, and they glided away together. He
found himself whispering her name over and over again
passionately.
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