he guests flowed in a gentle, happy tide to the
supper marquee and partook of such a collation of aspics and salads,
and souffles and truffles, and such a divine brew of cup and amazing
brand of cocktails as Wankelo had never before dreamed of in its
philosophy; then back they ebbed, more happily and hilariously than
they had flowed, to the ballroom, where, on the stroke of midnight, the
special string orchestra from Salisbury strung out sweet, tremolo
opening bars of the first waltz. And Druro had not come!
Mrs. Hading gracefully surrendered herself to the arms of a great man
who had been obliging enough to drop in accidentally by the evening
train from Buluwayo, and, floating down the room, opened the ball. Her
partner was a very great man indeed, both in South African and English
politics, and it was a feather of no small jauntiness in Marice
Hading's cap that she had been able to secure him for the vacant seat
at her supper-table and afterward beguile him to the ballroom and into
asking her to dance. His presence lent a final note of distinction to
an extraordinarily successful evening, and she had every reason to be
proud and triumphant--except one! But it was that one thing that
poisoned all. No triumph could quench her rage and humiliation at
Druro's defection.
"He shall pay! He shall pay!" were the words that beat time in her
brain, all the while she was floating and gliding among her guests,
full of graceful, weary words and charming, tired smiles, the only
colour in her face showing on her bitter lips.
"He shall pay me my price for this," she promised herself softly, "and
it shall not be a light one."
(Hugh Hading had paid his price for her girlhood; Lundi Druro should
pay for the rest of her life!)
Only one thing could put her right with her own pride and before the
little world which had witnessed the slight, and that she would
exact--the announcement that he was hers, body and soul, to do with as
she pleased. That the honour would be an empty one, this evening's
_deroute_ would seem to have demonstrated; he had proved once more that
he was no man's man, and no woman's man, either; he belonged to his
sins, and his weaknesses, and his failings. But, for the moment, it
would be enough for Marice Hading that he should propose to her and be
accepted. Her time would come later--afterward. There were many modes
of recompense of which she was past mistress, many subtle means of
repayment for in
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