Athalie

Anne Randolph and Arthur Ensart had joined hands, their restless feet

sketching the first steps of the Miraflores; and presently somebody

cranked the machine.

"Come on!" said Peggy imperiously to Dane; "you've been too long in

the jungle dancing with Indian maidens!"

Other people dropped in--Adele Millis, young Grismer, John Lyndhurst,

Jeanne Delauny.

When Clive saw Rosalie Faithorn saunter in with James Allys he stared,

but that young seceder from his own set greeted him without

embarrassment and lighted a cigarette.

"Where's Winifred?" she asked nonchalantly. "Still on the outs? Yes?

Why not shuffle and draw again? Winifred was always a pig."

Clive flushed at the girl's frankness although he could have expected

nothing less from her.

Rosalie continued to smoke and to inspect him critically: "You're a

bit seedy and a bit weedy, Clive, but you'll come around with feeding.

You're really all right. I'd have you myself if I was marrying young

men these days."

"That's nice of you, Rosalie.... But I'm full of rare bacilli."

"The rarer the better--if you must have them. Give me the unusual,

whether it's a disease or a gown. I believe I will take you, Clive--if

you are not expected to live long."

"That's the trouble. Nothing seems to be able to get me."

Dane said as he passed with Peggy: "He's immune, Miss Faithorn. The

prettiest woman I ever saw, he side-stepped in Lima. And even then

every man wanted to shoot him up because she made eyes at him."

"I think I'll go there," said Cecil. "Her name and quality if you

please, Dane."

"Ask Clive," he called back.

Athalie, still smiling, said: "Shall I ask you, Clive?"

"Don't ask that South American adventurer anything," interrupted

Cecil, "but come and dance this Miraflores with me, Athalie--"

"No, I don't wish to--"

"Come on! You must!"

"Oh, Cecil--please--"

But he had his way; and, as usual, everybody watched her while the

charming music lasted,--Clive among the others, standing a little

apart, lean, erect, his dark gaze fixed.

She came back to him after the dance, delicately flushed and a trifle

breathless.

"Do you dance that in England?" she asked.

"It's danced--not at Court functions, I believe."

"You never did care to dance, did you?"

"No--" he shrugged, "I used to mess about some."

"And what do you do to amuse yourself in these days?"