s
way of standing back to back when women want to find out too much. But
she did not need a great deal of enlightening, and when a man said with
careless significance, "I expect he has forgotten all about tonight,"
and the other men's eyes went blank, she guessed what was at the bottom
of it all. She had learned by now what were the occasions on which
Druro so poignantly _forgot_, and she was furious, not because gambling
might be bad for his bank account or his immortal soul, but that he
should dare to have a more burning interest than herself.

"What about sending someone to remind him?" suggested Maturin. Marice
Hading regarded him coldly.

"He is engaged to open the ball with me this evening. I do not think
he is likely to forget." There was more than a ring of arrogance in
her tone, and, looking straight past him into the eyes of Gay
Liscannon, she added acridly, "Whomsoever he may have thus
distinguished in the past."

Gay, who, by some mischance, had happened accidentally upon the
meeting, was taken off her guard by this direct attack, as the ready
flush in her cheek clearly told. A moment later, she was her pale,
calm self. But Mrs. Hading saw that her arrow shot at a venture had
drawn blood. She really knew nothing of Gay's quarrel with Druro, and
her venture was based on a remark Berlie had let fall. But she was
aware of a shadow between Gay and Druro that her sharp and curious eyes
had never been able to penetrate, and that infuriated her. Tryon,
lazily examining his shoes, here interposed a casual remark.

"I am willing to prophesy that what has happened once can happen
again--in spite of William De Morgan."

It was Marice Hading's turn to flush.

"If I do not dance with Mr. Druro tonight, it will not be because he is
absent," she said, with cold arrogance.

"_Nous verrons,_" he answered agreeably. She gave him an insolent
look. He had declared sides at last, and she knew where she stood.

Gay dressed for the dance with but little enthusiasm. Pride made her
put aside her longing to stay at home with her own wretchedness--pride
and bitter curiosity, but, above all, a haunting fear of what the
evening might bring forth. She had a strange premonition that
something final and fatal was going to happen to her love for Druro.
It was to be given its death-thrust, perhaps, by the announcement of an
engagement between him and the widow. Surely, Marice Hading's
significance had meant that if i