Miss Lady danced with the grace and
abandonment of a child. She had given herself utterly to the joy of
the moment. She was letting herself go for the first time since her
marriage, following the glad impulse of her heart, and dancing as a
Bacchante might have danced alone on a moonlight night in some forest
glade.
When at last the music stopped Cropsie drew her into the conservatory.
"Here, come around this palm, quick! They'll all be after you for the
next dance. Gerald Ivy is charging around now looking for you, and so
is Mr. Horton. Sit there in the window and cool off!"
She sank laughing and breathless on the window sill. All the
exhilaration of the dance was in her eyes, her lips were parted, her
cheeks flushed, and a strand of loosened hair fell across her
shoulder.
It was at this moment that wheels sounded on the driveway below,
caused her to lean idly out to see who was coming. A wagon stopped at
the side entrance, and a man alighted. Uncle Jimpson's voice was heard
asking a question, then came the other man's voice, in quick, incisive
answer.
Miss Lady, sitting motionless, looking down, turned suddenly from the
window.
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