There was something in the controlled strength of it that
touched her newly. She may have realized that if he had not been
silent, if he had argued, defended himself, pleaded, she would have
risen and walked back to the house without a word. It turned her
nature toward him a little, that he placed too high a value upon
her dismissal of him not to believe it irrevocable.
Yet it hurt her: she was but one woman in the world; could the
thought of this have made it easier for him to let her go away now
without a protest?
The air of the summer night grew unbearable for sweetness about
her. The faint music of the ballroom had no pity for her. There
young eyes found joy in answering eyes, passed on and found joy in
others and in others. Palm met palm and then palms as soft and
then palms yet softer. Some minutes before, the laughter of
Marguerite in the shrubbery quite close by had startled Isabel.
She had distinguished a voice. Now Marguerite's laughter reached
her again--and there was a different voice with hers. Change!
change! one put away, the place so perfectly filled by another.
A white moth of the night wandered into Rowan's face searching its
features; then it flitted over to her and searched hers, its wings
fanning and clinging to her lips; and then it passed on, pursuing
amid mistakes and inconstancies its life-quest lasting through a
few darknesses.
Fear suddenly reached down into her heart and drew up one question;
and she asked that question in a voice low and cold and guarded:
"Sometime, when you ask another woman to marry you, will you think
it your duty to tell her?"
"I will never ask any other woman.
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