One person draws another, and soon Theodora had three or four around
her--all purring and talking frocks. And as she answered their questions
with gentle frankness, she wondered what everything meant. Did any of
them feel--did any of them love passionately as she did?--or were they
all dolls more or less bored and getting through life? And would she,
too, grow like them in time, and be able to play bridge with interest
until the small hours?
Later some of the party danced in the ballroom, which was beyond the
saloon the other way, and now a definite idea came to Hector as he held
Theodora in his arms in the waltz. They could not possibly bear this
life. Why should he not take her away--away from the smug grocer, and
then they could live their life in a dream of bliss in Italy, perhaps,
and later at Bracondale. He had a great position, and people soon forget
nowadays.
His pulses were bounding with these wild thoughts, born of their
nearness and the long hours of strain. To-morrow he would tell her of
them, but to-night--they would dance.
And Theodora felt her very soul melt within her. She was worn out with
conflicting emotions. She could not fight with inclination any longer.
Whatever he should say she would have to listen to--and agree with. She
felt almost faint. And so at the end of the first dance she managed to
whisper: "Hector, I am tired. I shall go to bed." And in truth when he looked at
her she was deadly white.
She stopped by her husband.
"Josiah," she said, "will you make my excuses to Lady Ada and Uncle
Patrick? I do not feel well; I am going to my room."
Hector's distress was intense. He could not carry her up in his arms as
he would have wished, he could not soothe and pet and caress her, or do
anything in the world but stand by and see Josiah fussing and
accompanying her to the stairs and on to her room. She hardly said the
word good-night to him, and her very lips were white. Wensleydown's
face, as he stood with Mildred, drove him mad with its mocking leer, and
if he had heard their conversation there might have been bloodshed.
Josiah returned to the saloon, and made his way to the bridge-room to
Sir Patrick and his hostess; but Hector still leaned against the door.
"He'll probably go out on the terrace and walk in the night by himself,"
thought the Crow, who had watched the scene, "and these dear people
will say he has gone to meet her, and it is a ruse her being ill. They
could not let such a chance slip, if they are both absent together."