A third voice broke in on the conversation--an older voice--the voice of a man who had lived and observed much.
"I saw her often as a child," he said, "a perilously wilful child, determined upon her own way, and possessed of her own fancies about this, that, and the other, which were seldom, if ever, the ideas of anyone else. There was always plenty of excitement where she was--always that same disturbing air! Even with her pigtails and pinafores, one could see the woman in her eyes. But she was a provoking little creature, always dreaming of impossible romances. Her father had his hands full."
"As her husband will have, poor devil! If he's man enough to hold her, all right. If he is not," with a significant shrug of the shoulders, "it's his own lookout!"
"That old French _roué_ hold her? You're dreaming! She won't be faithful to him a week--if he has a handsome valet, or a half-way manly groom! How could she?" And they laughed coarsely.
The Boy gave them a look that should have annihilated all three, but they weren't noticing the Boy. He could have throttled them! How dared such lips as these pollute his darling's name! And yet these were society men--they could dance with her, clasp her to them, and look into those "witch eyes"--oh, the ignominy of it!
He looked across at Opal. How beautiful she was in her pale green gown, her white shoulders and arms glistening beneath the electric light with the sheen of polished marble, her red-brown hair glowing with its fiery lure, while even across the room her eyes sparkled like diamonds, lighting up her whole face. She was certainly enjoying herself--this Circe who had tempted him across the seas. She seemed possessed of the very spirit of mischief--and Paul forgot himself.
The orchestra was playing a Strauss waltz--it fired his blood. He walked across the room with his masterful, authoritative air--the manner of a man born to command. "Miss Ledoux," he said, and the crowd around her instinctively made way for him, "this is our waltz, I believe!" and whirled her away before she could answer.
Ah! it was delicious, that waltz! In perfect rhythm they clung together, gliding about the polished floor, her bare shoulder pressing his arm, her head with its bewildering perfume so near his lips, their hearts throbbing fiercely in the ecstasy of their nearness--which was Love.