Not a true waltz--some French or Spanish pavement song played in waltz
time; bizarre, pathetic, whirling after its own happiness. That chase for
happiness! Well, life, with all its prizes and its possibilities, had
nothing that quite satisfied--save just the fleeting moments of passion!
Nothing else quite poignant enough to be called pure joy! Or so it
seemed to him.

The waltz was over. He could see her now, on a rout seat against the
wall with the other young man, turning her eyes constantly as if to make
sure that he was still standing there. What subtle fuel was always being
added to the fire by that flattery of her inexplicable adoration--of
those eyes that dragged him to her, yet humbly followed him, too! Five
times while she sat there he saw the red-haired girl or Oliver bring men
up; saw youths cast longing glances; saw girls watching her with cold
appraisement, or with a touching, frank delight. From the moment that
she came in, there had been, in her father's phrase, 'only one in it.'
And she could pass all this by, and still want him. Incredible!

At the first notes of the polka he went to her. It was she who found
their place of refuge--a little alcove behind two palm-plants. But
sitting there, he realized, as never before, that there was no spiritual
communion between him and this child. She could tell him her troubles or
her joys; he could soothe or sympathize; but never would the gap between
their natures and their ages be crossed. His happiness was only in the
sight and touch of her. But that, God knew, was happiness enough--a
feverish, craving joy, like an overtired man's thirst, growing with the
drink on which it tries to slake itself. Sitting there, in the scent of
those flowers and of some sweet essence in her hair, with her fingers
touching his, and her eyes seeking his, he tried loyally not to think of
himself, to grasp her sensations at this her first dance, and just help
her to enjoyment. But he could not--paralyzed, made drunk by that
insensate longing to take her in his arms and crush her to him as he had
those few hours back. He could see her expanding like a flower, in all
this light, and motion, and intoxicating admiration round her. What
business had he in her life, with his dark hunger after secret hours;
he--a coin worn thin already--a destroyer of the freshness and the
glamour of her youth and beauty!

Then, holding up the flowers, she said:

"Did you give me these