“Well!” she said.
“Well!” he replied.
She leant over and tapped him on the arm with her fan. “You hold a distinct initial advantage over me, you know. Mr. X. Anonymity is such a terribly strong position in which to entrench one’s self. To you I am Sheila Delaney—to me you are—an unknown quantity.”
He smiled appreciatively. “Yet one usually concludes by finding the value of X—shall we say.”
“If one is successful,” she replied, “you have to be successful, you know, to discover the true value.”
He smiled again.
“I think I am going to like you,” she went on very frankly and disarmingly, “there is something about you that attracts me—you have a—what shall I call it—a ‘je ne sais quoi‘—
He fingered her fan with a kind of mocking assurance playing round the line of his lips. She lifted her left hand as he did so. “Hark!” she exclaimed, “those violins—I love violins—they croon—don’t they? They’ve got something in their music that no other instrument has—‘silky susurrus of petticoats ravishing—violins crooning above—drowsy exotics their essences lavishing—whispers of Scandal and Love’—I’m afraid I’ve misquoted,” she continued breathlessly, “but a perfectly topping dance always makes me think of that.”
“You like dancing?” he asked simply.
“I adore it,” she answered just as simply—then relapsed into a contemplative silence. Suddenly she looked up at him with mischievous eyes. “Do you dance?” she inquired.
“Very seldom—but I’m sorely tempted to dance to-night.” His eyes held a depth of meaning.
“That’s very charming of you,” she remarked, “and if you’re anything like me—and I’m sure you are in some things—you delight in yielding to temptation.” Her eyes caught his and challenged them. They were—he concluded—in a quiet breathless summing up—rather extraordinary eyes. Quickly changing colour, at this precise moment they seemed to be flecked with strange shades of light green. They were challenging his now with an allurement of demure and dainty invitation. She rose and placed her finger-tips on his broad shoulder. “I’m convinced you dance beautifully,” she murmured as they stepped off to the rhythm of the Red Ruritanians, “so don’t attempt to deny it.”
It did not take Sheila Delaney long to realise that her conviction was right. Her companion proved a worth partner for her. She looked at him provocatively. “Why have you no business to be here, Mr. X?” she queried softly.
He shook his head. Then the Spirit of Audacity and Adventure caught him and held him securely captive. “One day—perhaps, I’ll tell you,” he declared, “till then, you must possess your soul in patience.”
“Supposing I don’t choose to wait?” She summoned all her resources of disdain to her aid and let it tinge her question. Her partner merely shrugged his ample shoulders. “If you continue to surround yourself with this dreadfully mysterious atmosphere,” she went on, “I shall begin to think that I’m dancing with the guest of the evening—His Royal Highness, The Crown Prince of Clorania—one never quite knows.” She looked at him with arch invitation—so much so that Alan Warburton from the end of the room felt suddenly murderous as he watched her laughing face and the broad back of her partner. But her curiosity was to remain unsatisfied. Mr. X was apparently in no mood for the exchange of confidences. He looked at her with a smile that conveyed a mysterious much, yet confessed a negligible nothing. Carruthers threw her silk shawl across her shoulders when she returned to her seat—the dance over; then he turned to the other man a little critically.
“You didn’t tell me you intended to dance,” he exclaimed. “That wasn’t part—”
“Blame Miss Delaney,” came the unruffled reply, before he could complete his sentence. “Actually I had no intention of doing so myself—but Miss Delaney in the rôle of the temptress, I found deucedly hard to resist.”
Carruthers was about to demur when Sheila laid her hand upon his wrist. “I have to thank you, Major, for a most delightful experience. Mr. X”—the green eyes glinted mischievously—“dances beautifully—I should like to carry him round with me as my dancing partner.”
The person complimented bowed his thanks as the Chief Constable turned towards him. “I think I had better be going, Major,” he said gravely. Carruthers looked at his watch—then deliberately at the speaker. “So do I,” he agreed; “we must also make our departure very shortly, Sheila.”
The sweeping eye-lashes covered eyes that flickered and themselves quivered dangerously as she gave the two men her hand. Carruthers gave it an affectionate clasp, but his companion bent over it with a studied gallantry. “Good-by,” she said with some deliberation in her voice-tone, “Good-bye—Mr. X.” He looked at her with frank admiration in his gaze—then spoke very quietly—yet with infinite meaning, “Au ’voir—Miss Sheila.” He turned on his heels smartly—then followed the Chief Constable down the room—and out.
When Carruthers returned half an hour later, he found that the number of dancers had thinned considerably and that the ballroom was a far more comfortable place than it had been before. Sheila Delaney was one of those that remained. Her nature was such that it was a physical impossibility for her to be dull for very long, yet Major Carruthers was definitely conscious that a fit of depression had overcome her. He rallied her with cynical generosity, “Give me,” he exclaimed teasingly, “and every time at that—the girl who is content with her lot—who doesn’t sit sighing for what she has not—” he paused and was somewhat startled at something he seemed to see in the expression on her face.
“I’m not sighing, Major,” she spoke with a certain wistfulness, “I’m very far from sighing if you only knew.” She rose and faced him confidently. He caught her by the shoulder with an air of parental proprietorship—looked at her intently—then said abruptly, “where’s young Warburton?”
“I haven’t the least idea,” came the reply—touched with unexpected frigidity, “gone—I expect.”
“Dance this with me, then,” said Carruthers, “before we go.”
“I don’t want to dance a bit,” she responded, “but I will—for you, Major.”
As their finger-tips met he noticed how cold she
