But Ruyler had broken politely away and was walking down the long

corridor. When he arrived at the ballroom he saw at a glance that his

wife was not there, for the floor was only half filled. But there were

other rooms where dancers sat in couples or groups when tired. He went

hastily through all of them, but saw nothing of his wife. Nor of Doremus.

Mrs. Thornton had gone in search of her.

And Gwynne knew.

This time the hot blood was pounding in his head. He felt as he imagined

madmen did when about to run amok. Or quite as primitive as any

Californian of the surging "Fifties."

He was in one of the smaller rooms and he sat down in a corner with his

back to the few people in it and endeavored to take hold of himself; the

conventional training of several lifetimes and his own intense pride

forbade a scene in public. But his curved fingers longed for Doremus'

throat and he made up his mind that if his awful suspicions were

vindicated he would beat his wife black and blue. That was far more

sensible and manly than running whining to a divorce court.

The effort at self-control left him gasping, but when he rose from his

shelter he was outwardly composed, and determined to seek Gwynne and

force the truth from him. He would not discuss his wife with another

woman. And whatever this hideous tragedy brooding over his life he would

go out and come to grips with it at once.

III

And in the corridor he saw his wife chatting gayly with a group of young

friends. Her color was paler than usual, perhaps, but that was not

uncommon at a party, and otherwise she was as unruffled, as normal in

appearance and manner, as when they had parted at the Gwynnes'.

Nevertheless, he went directly up to her, and as she gave a little cry of

pleased surprise, he drew her hand through his arm. "Come!" he said

imperiously. "You are to dance this with me. I broke away on purpose--"

"But, darling, I am full up--"

"You have skipped at least two. I have been looking everywhere for you--"

"Polly Roberts dragged me upstairs to see the new gowns M. Dupont brought

her from Paris. They came this afternoon--so did Mrs. Thornton's--but of

course I'll dance this with you. You don't look well," she added

anxiously. "Aren't you?"

"Quite, but rather tired--mentally. I need a dance...."

He wondered if she had gently propelled him down the corridor. They were

some distance from the group. It was impossible for him to go back and

ask if his wife's story were true. Mrs. Thornton was nowhere to be seen,

neither in the corridor nor in the ballroom. Nor was Doremus. He set his

teeth grimly and managed to smile down upon his wife.




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