From
this room, in the lulls in the music, came the pop of corks and the
clink of glasses, and as an undertone the steady click and clatter of
chips and roulette balls.
The small door at the rear opened, and a woman, befurred and muffled,
came in on a wave of frost. The cold rushed in with her to the warmth,
taking form in a misty cloud which hung close to the floor, hiding the
feet of the dancers, and writhing and twisting until vanquished by the
heat.
"A veritable frost queen, my Lucile," Colonel Trethaway addressed her.
She tossed her head and laughed, and, as she removed her capes and
street-moccasins, chatted with him gayly. But of Corliss, though he
stood within a yard of her, she took no notice. Half a dozen dancing
men were waiting patiently at a little distance till she should have
done with the colonel. The piano and violin played the opening bars of
a schottische, and she turned to go; but a sudden impulse made Corliss
step up to her. It was wholly unpremeditated; he had not dreamed of
doing it.
"I am very sorry," he said.
Her eyes flashed angrily as she turned upon him.
"I mean it," he repeated, holding out his hand. "I am very sorry. I
was a brute and a coward. Will you forgive me?"
She hesitated, and, with the wisdom bought of experience, searched him
for the ulterior motive. Then, her face softened, and she took his
hand.
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