" She began to rock, while he studied her
profile; then, conscious of his look, she inquired, "Aren't you
dancing?"
"No, just looking on, as usual. I prefer to watch. You have broken
your fan, it seems." He flung his cigarette into the darkness and,
reaching out, took the fan from her hand. She saw that his lips
were drawn back in a peculiar smile.
"Well! Is that so strange?" she answered, sharply. "You seem--"
She broke off and looked deliberately away from him.
"Row, eh?" he inquired, softly.
She could barely hold back her hatred of the man. He had worked
powerfully upon her nerves of late, and she was half hysterical.
"Why do you take pleasure in annoying me?" she cried. "What ails
you these last few weeks? I can't stand it--I won't--"
"Oh! Pardon! One quarrel an evening is enough. I should have known
better."
She turned upon him at this, but once more checked the words that
clamored for utterance. Her look, however, was a warning. She bit
her lip and said nothing.
"Too bad you and he don't hit it off better; he likes me."
There was no answer.
"He's giving me a party after the dance, sort of a gratitude
affair. A delicate way to acknowledge a debt, eh?"
She saw that his hand shook as he lit a fresh cigarettes, and the
strangeness of his tone made her wonder.
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