Confused by his hurt and his anger, which seemed out of all logical proportion to the cause of it, he turned abruptly and collided with Grandcourt, who had edged up that far, waiting for the opportunity of which Dysart, as usual, robbed him.
Grandcourt apologised, muttering something about Mrs. Severn wishing him to find Miss Seagrave. He stood, awkwardly, looking after Geraldine and Dysart, but not offering to follow them.
"Lot of debutantes here--the whole year"s output," he said vaguely.
"What a noisy supper-room--eh, Mallett? I"m rather afraid champagne is responsible for some of it."
Duane started forward, halted.
"Did you say Mrs. Severn wants Miss Seagrave?"
"Y--yes.... I"d better go and tell her, hadn"t I?"
He flushed heavily, but made no movement to follow Geraldine and Dysart, who had now entered the conservatory and disappeared.
For a full minute, uncomfortably silent, the two men stood side by side; then Duane said in a constrained voice:
"I"ll speak to Miss Seagrave, if you"ll find her brother and Mrs.
Severn"; and walked slowly toward the palm-set rotunda.
When he found them--and he found them easily, for Geraldine"s overexcited laughter warned and guided him--Dysart, her fan in his hands, looked up at Duane intensely annoyed, and the young girl tossed away a half-destroyed rose and glanced up, the laughter dying out from lips and eyes.
"Kathleen sent for you," said Duane drily.
"I"ll come in a minute, Duane."
"In a moment," repeated Dysart insolently, and turned his back.
The colour surged into Mallett"s face; he turned sharply on his heel.
"Wait!" said Geraldine; "Duane--do you hear me?"
"I"ll take you back," began Dysart, but she pa.s.sed in front of him and laid her hand on Mallett"s arm.
"Won"t you wait for me, Duane?"
And suddenly things seemed to be as they had been in their childhood, the resurgence swept them both back to the old and stormy footing again.
"Duane!"
"What?"
"I tell you to wait for me--_here_!" She stamped her foot.
He scowled--but waited. She turned on Dysart:
"Good-night!"--offering her hand with decision.
Dysart began: "But I had expected----"
"_Good-night!_"
Dysart stared, took the offered hand, hesitated, started to speak, thought better of it, made a characteristically graceful obeisance, and an excellent exit, all things considered.
Geraldine drew a deep breath, moved forward through the flower-set dimness a step or two, halted, and, as Mallett came up, pa.s.sed her arm through his.
"Duane," she said, "the champagne has gone to my head."
"Nonsense!"
"It _has_! My cheeks are queer--the skin fits too tight. My legs don"t belong to me--but they"ll do."
She laughed and turned toward him; her feverish breath touched his cheek.
"My first dinner! Isn"t it disgraceful? But how could I know?"
"You mustn"t let it scare you."
"It doesn"t. I don"t care. I knew something would go wrong. I--the truth is, that I don"t know how to act--how to accept my liberty. I don"t know how to use it. I"m a perfect fool.... Do you think Kathleen will notice this? Isn"t it terrible! She never dreamed I would touch any wine. Do I look--queer?"
"No. It isn"t so, anyway--and you"ll simply lean on me----"
"Oh, my knees are perfectly steady. It"s only that they don"t seem to belong to me. I"m--I"m excited--I"ve laughed too much--more than I have ever laughed in all the years of my life put together. You don"t know what I mean, do you, Duane? But it"s true; I"ve talked to-night more than I ever have in any one week.... And it"s gone to my head--all this--all these people who laugh with me over nothing--follow me, tell me I am pretty, ask me for dances, favours, beg me for a word with them--as though I would need asking or urging!--as though my impulse is not to open my heart to every one of them--open my arms to them--thank them on my knees for being here--for being nice to me--all these boys who make little circles around me--so funny, so quaint in their formality----"
She pressed his arm tighter.
"_Let_ me rattle on--let me babble, Duane. I"ve years of silence to make up for. Let me talk like a fool; _you_ know I"m not one.... Oh, the happiness of this one night!--the happiness of it! I never shall have enough dancing, never enough of pleasure.... I--I"m perfectly mad over pleasure; I like men.... I suppose the champagne makes me frank about it--but I don"t care--I do like men----"
"_That_ one?" demanded Mallett, halting her on the edge of the palms which screened the conservatory doors.
"You mean Mr. Dysart? Yes--I--do like him."
"Well, he"s married, and you"d better not," he snapped.
"C-can"t I _like_ him?" in piteous astonishment which set the colour flying into his face.
"Why, yes--of course--I didn"t mean----"
"_What_ did you mean? Isn"t it--shouldn"t he be----"
"Oh, it"s all right, Geraldine. Only he"s a sort of a pig to keep you away from--others----"
"Other--_pigs_?"
He turned sharply, seized her, and forcibly turned her toward the light.
She made no effort to control her laughter, excusing it between breaths:
"I didn"t mean to turn what you said into ridicule; it came out before I meant it.... Do let me laugh a little, Duane. I simply cannot care about anything serious for a while--I want to be frivolous----"
"Don"t laugh so loud," he whispered.