Greatheart. Ethel M. Dell
shall remember that," she said, with her gay little nod. "I dreamt last night that we were in Olympus."
"We?" he said softly.
She nodded again, flushed and laughing, confident that she had received her cue. "And you—were Apollo."
She saw his eyes change magically, flashing into swift life, and dropped her own before the mastery that dawned there.
"And you," he questioned under his breath, "were Daphne?"
"Perhaps," she said enigmatically. After all, flirting was not such a difficult art, and since he had declared that there could be no consequences, she did not see why she should bury this new-found talent of hers.
"What a charming dream!" he commented lazily. "But you know what happened to Daphne when she ran away, don't you?"
She flung him a laughing challenge. "He didn't catch her anyway."
"True!" smiled Sir Eustace. "But have you never wondered whether it wouldn't have been more sport for her if he had? It wouldn't be very exciting, you know, to lead the life of a vegetable."
"It isn't!" declared Dinah, with abrupt sincerity.
"Oh, you know something about it, do you?" he said. "Then the modern
Daphne ought to have too much sense to run away."
She laughed with a touch of wistfulness. "I wonder how she felt about it afterwards."
"I wonder," he agreed, tipping the ash off his cigarette. "It didn't matter so much to Apollo, you see. He had plenty to choose from."
Dinah's wistfulness vanished in a swift breath of indignation. "Really!" she said.
He looked at her. "Yes, really," he told her, with deliberation. "And he didn't need to run after them either. But, possibly," his gaze softened again, "possibly that was what made him want Daphne the most. Elusiveness is quite a fascinating quality if it isn't carried too far. Still—" he smiled—"I expect he got over it in the end, you know; but in her case I am not quite so sure."
"I don't suppose he did get ever it," maintained Dinah with spirit. "All the rest must have seemed very cheap afterwards."
"Perhaps he was more at home with the cheap variety," he suggested carelessly.
His eyes had wandered to the buzzing throng behind her, and she saw a glint of criticism—or was it merely easy contempt?—dispel the smile with which he had regarded her. His mouth wore a faint but unmistakable sneer.
But in a moment his look returned to her, kindled upon her. "Are you for the ice carnival to-night?" he asked.
She drew a quick, eager breath. "Oh, I do want to come! But I don't know—yet—if I shall be allowed."
"Why ask?" he questioned.
She hesitated, then ingenuously she told him her difficulty. "I got into trouble last night for dancing so late with you. And—and—I may be sent to bed early to make up for it."
He frowned. "Do you mean to say you'd go?"
She coloured vividly. "I'm only nineteen, and I have to do as I'm told."
"Heavens above!" he said. "You belong to the generation before the last evidently. No girl ever does as she is told now-a-days. It isn't the thing."
"I do," whispered Dinah, in dire confusion. "At least—generally."
"And what happens if you don't?" he queried. "Do they whip you and put you to bed?"
She clenched her hands hard. "Don't!" she said. "You're only joking, I know. But—I hate it!"
His manner changed in a moment, became half-quizzical, half-caressing. "Poor little brown elf, what a shame! Well, come if you can! I shall look out for you. I may have something to show you."
"May you? Oh, what?" cried Dinah, all eagerness in a moment.
He laughed. There was a provoking hint of mystery in his manner. "Ah!
That lies in the future, miladi."
"But tell me!" she persisted.
"Will you come then?" he asked.
"Perhaps," she said. "If I can!"
"Ah! And perhaps not!" he said. "What then?"
Dinah's mouth grew suddenly firm. "I will come," she said.
"You will?" His keen eyes held hers with smiling compulsion.
"Yes, I will."
He made a gesture as if he would take her hand, but restrained himself, and paused to tip the ash once more off his cigarette.
"Now tell me!" commanded Dinah.
"I don't think I will," he said deliberately.
"But you must!" said Dinah.
His eyes sought hers again with that look which she found it impossible to meet. She bent over her cup.
"What will you show me?" she persisted. "Tell me!"
"I didn't say I would show you anything," he pointed out. "I said I might."
"Tell me what it was anyhow!" she said.
He leaned nearer to her, and suddenly it seemed to her that they were quite alone, very far removed from the rest of the world. "It may not be to-night," he murmured. "Or even to-morrow. But some day—in this land where there are no consequences—I will show you—when the fates are propitious, not before—some of the things that Daphne missed when she ran away."
He ceased to speak. Dinah's face was burning. She could not look at him. She felt as if a magic flame had wrapped her round. Her whole body was tingling, her heart wildly a-quiver. There was a rapture in that moment that was almost too intense, too poignant, to be borne.
He was the first to move. Calmly he leaned back, and resumed his cigarette. Through the aromatic smoke his voice came to her again.
"Are you angry?"
Her whole being stirred in response. She uttered a little quivering laugh that was near akin to tears.
"No—of course—no! But I—I think I ought to go and dress! It's getting late, isn't it? Thank you for giving me tea!" She rose, her movements quick and dainty as the flight of a robin. "Good-bye!" she murmured shyly.
He rose also with a sweeping bow. "A bientôt—Daphne!" he said.
She gave him a single swift glance from under fluttering lashes, and turned away in silence.
She went up the stairs with the speed of a bird on the wing, but she could not outpace the wonder and the wild delight at her heart. As she entered her own room at length, she laughed, a breathless, rippling laugh. How amazing—and how gorgeous—was this new life!
CHAPTER XII
THE WINE OF THE GODS
The rink was ablaze with fairy-lights under the starry sky. Rose de Vigne, exquisitely fair in ruby velvet and ermine furs paused on the verandah, looking pensively forth.
Very beautiful she looked standing there, and Captain Brent of the Sappers striding forth with his skates jingling in his hand stopped as one compelled.
"Are you waiting for someone, Miss de Vigne? Or may I escort you?"
She looked at him with a faint smile as if in pity for his disappointment. "Too late, I am afraid, Captain Brent. I have promised Sir Eustace to skate with him."
"Who?" Brent glanced towards the rink. "Why, he's down there already dancing