waltz after the state quadrille, in which imposing ceremonial she had naturally no place. He found her very charming, so he confided to his wife, and with a delightful sense of humour. She had asked him how he and Lady Waveryng bore the shock of the introduction to Horace's barbarians. She had also informed him that lords and lesser members of the aristocracy were at a discount on the diggings, and they had never been able to get up a sufficient sense of the honour to which Ina had been raised. She thought, however, that acquaintance with Lord Waveryng might now enable them to realize their advantages. She said all this with grave simplicity, looking into Lord Waveryng's face with her beautiful, shy eyes, always keeping that expression of vague pain and alarm.
All this time Blake had never asked her to dance. He had danced with. Lady Waveryng, with Ina, with Rose Garfit. He had smiled at her in an absolutely conventional manner when their eyes met, but he had never shown the least desire for any private conversation. What did it all mean? Had he been mad last night? Had she been mad or dreaming? Or was it merely that the game was played, and that he wished her to understand this, and that her claims upon his attention were at an end.
Well, he should see that she did not care. She smiled upon Trant with reckless witchery, and let him take her into the square of garden behind the Club House—a dim patch of fairyland—palms outlined against the pale moonlit sky, coloured lamps hanging on the fantastic branches of the monkey trees and gleaming in thickets of bamboos. The bamboos made a soft rustling in the night wind. The datura flowers scented the air with their heavy fragrance. There were little tents here and there, and cane lounges, with bright red cushions set in secluded corners.
To one of these Trant led her. Her shoulders were bare, and she shivered slightly as he came close to her. "It is too cold to be out in the garden," she said.
"Cold; no, not in the least. But see how thoughtful I have been."
