with a certain dread, as if in a single interchange
of glances the illusions of the moment would either vanish utterly or
become irrevocably fixed. He forced himself, when the set was finished,
to turn away, partly to avoid contact with some acquaintances who had
drifted before him, and whom politeness would have obliged him to ask to
dance, and partly to collect his thoughts. He determined to make a tour
of the rooms and then go quietly home. Those who recognized him made
way for him with passive curiosity; the middle-aged and older adding a
confidential sympathy and equality that positively irritated him. For an
instant he had an idea of seeking out Mrs. Tripp and claiming her as a
partner, merely to show her that he danced.

He had nearly made the circuit of the room when he was surprised by the
first strains of a waltz. Waltzing was not a strong feature of Indian
Spring festivity, partly that the Church people had serious doubts if
David's saltatory performances before the Ark included "round dances,"
and partly that the young had not yet mastered its difficulties. When he
yielded to his impulse to look again at the dancers he found that only
three or four couples had been bold enough to take the floor. Cressy
McKinstry and her former partner were one of them. In his present
exaltation he was not astonished to find that she had evidently picked
up the art in her late visit, and was now waltzing with quiet grace
and precision, but he was surprised that her partner was far from being
equally perfect, and that after a few turns she stopped and smilingly
disengaged her waist from his arm. As she stepped back she turned with
unerring instinct to that part of the room where the master stood, and
raised her eyes through the multitude of admiring faces to his. Their
eyes met in an isolation as supreme as if they had been alone. It was an
attraction the more dangerous because unformulated--a possession without
previous pledge, promise, or even intention--a love that did not require
to be "made."

He approached her quietly and even more coolly than he thought possible.
"Will you allow me a trial?" he asked.

She looked in his face, and as if she had not heard the question but was
following her own thought, said, "I knew you would come; I saw you when
you first came in." Without another word she put her hand in his, and
as if it were part of an instinctive action of drawing closer to him,
caught with her advancing foot the a