Part 3 — CHAPTER II THE CAPTURE

When Rosemary first entered the great ball-room she halted in bewilderment. Never before had she seen anything in the least like it. It was like a step into the most fantastic fairyland that she had ever pictured.

The place was a blaze of light, and the crowds that thronged the floor made a dazzling kaleidoscope of colour that seemed to go to her head. Without knowing it, she uttered a breathless laugh of sheer delirious excitement.

"I believe it's a dream," she said.

The heavy veil she wore became suddenly cumbersome, obstructing her vision. She lifted it impulsively and threw it back.

"Is that a sign for the kissing to begin?" said Percy's voice in her ear.

She flung him a look that had in it a hint of resentment though she still laughed. Now that she had really reached the goal of her desire, she had no special use for Percy. He had been a means to an end. He was now merely an interruption. She wanted to go straight forward and lose herself in that laughing, amazing throng. Like a child that clutches at a glittering bauble, she could think of nothing else.

The music too, now heard at close quarters, had in it an intoxicating element, a subtle attraction like a will-o'-the-wisp that beckoned and fled before her. But, curiously enough, in those first wonderful seconds, she did not think of dancing. Just to absorb the light and wonder of it all was what she needed.

Then again there came Percy's voice, quick and urgent, close to her. "Come on! Who's wasting time now? Hitch up that train of yours and let's get going!"

She thought to herself, as somewhat mechanically she complied, that Percy Hudson was the least romantic part of the whole thing. He was dressed in an old-fashioned labourer's smock, but he quite failed to look anything but an up-to-date youth in a very inadequate disguise. There were other figures moving around her which held a far greater appeal, figures in mediæval costume and resplendent old-world uniforms, ladies in exquisite brocades and laces who ought to have been dropping curtsey a and dancing the minuet. As she slid out on to the shining floor with Percy she felt almost like an intruder though something whispered to her that her own bridal dress of twenty years ago was as charming as any there.

It had the merit of originality also, and it was not long before she began to realize that she was attracting attention. She was still too unspoilt to imagine that her beauty was in any way extraordinary. She ascribed it all to the fact that there was no other bride in the room. But Percy knew better, and though he appreciated the fact that his partner was the belle of the ball, he was inclined to regard with some disfavour the admiration that she excited.

Another factor with which he had not reckoned was that he was bound to meet acquaintances at such a function. He would have preferred to devote himself exclusively to Rosemary, but this was not to be. When the dance was over, he was accosted by several people whom he knew, and he was obliged to introduce Rosemary albeit with extreme reluctance. He tried to maintain a proprietary air, but Rosemary did not second his efforts. She wanted the utmost that life could give that night, and both hands were stretched out to receive it.

She accepted an invitation to dance with a man with whom Percy was not very intimate, and deserted him light-heartedly for several dances thereafter.

When eventually she returned to him, he led her to a quiet corner and took her to task.

"It's rotten bad form," he said. "I brought you, after all."

"Oh, give me a cigarette," said Rosemary, "and don't be silly!"

Then as he still looked unappeased she wound a coaxing arm in his and laughed into his discontented face.

"Dear old Percy, don't spoil things!" she urged. "I know you brought me, and I'm everlastingly grateful. But do let me enjoy things now I'm here!"

There was no resisting her appeal. His face cleared in spite of him. He bent towards her. "Of course you shall!" he said. "But let me enjoy it too! I hate standing and watching you dance."

"Well, go and dance with someone else!" cried Rosemary gaily. "There are heaps to be had."

"I don't want anyone but you," he said.

The ardour of his voice and eyes held her. She also was moved, scarcely knowing why.

"Of course I love dancing with you," she said. "Only don't you see I want to do everything."

She had not as a matter of fact greatly enjoyed her change of partners though she deemed it wiser not to flatter him by telling him so. She had a curious feeling as of being on the edge of a volcano while in his company that night—such a feeling as she had never before experienced—and it was in part to avoid this that she had deserted him. But her late partner had not been a very inspiring dancer, and she was not sorry on the whole to return.

"I wonder if The Old Bean has found out yet," she said, by way of turning the conversation.

Percy was holding the hand she had slipped through his arm. His grasp became a little closer as he made reply.

"Not he! He always sleeps like an ox. Besides, he couldn't find out. He thinks I went in the other direction to the Ransoms'."

"Did you tell him so?" asked Rosemary.

Percy chuckled. "Not exactly! I told him I'd been asked to go round, and asked if he minded my using the car to go. I also let him infer that to-night's show was off as I was sure your aunt wouldn't let you go."

"That was quite ingenious," laughed Rosemary. "But he wouldn't expect you to make a night of it at the Ransoms', would he? What if he waited up?"

"Oh, rats!" said Percy. "There's nothing would keep that Scotchman from his sleep. You bet he tucked himself up long ago."

"I wonder," said Rosemary. "Anyway, he couldn't follow us here, could he? Unless he took your old motor-bike which is always breaking down."

"Oh, he won't follow us," declared Percy. "Not that it would matter much if he did. He couldn't do anything."

Rosemary gave a little shiver. "Oh, I shouldn't like him to turn up here," she said. "He would spoil everything."

"He won't turn up," Percy assured her. "Don't you worry! Even if he did, he hasn't any authority. He couldn't forbid the banns."

"Don't be absurd!" said Rosemary.

He looked at her. "I'm not absurd. And if I were, it would be your own fault. What made you think of coming as a bride? And where did you get that priceless turn-out?"

Rosemary surveyed her finery with a complacent air. "It isn't too bad, is it? I can't help thinking it was made for Aunt Matilda when she was young. She got very near being married once, and then something happened and she was let down. I found it one day in an old trunk in the attic quite by accident, and tried it on just for fun. It fitted beautifully, and everything was there, shoes and stockings and veil. I nearly came down in it, and then I thought I might get into a row, so I just put it away again and didn't tell anyone. I'm glad you like it. It seemed a pity that it should never see the light of day."

"I love it," said Percy. "And I'll tell you what I'd love better still, and that is to see you married in it."

"Oh, don't be absurd!" said Rosemary again, but she said it a little uneasily for there was something about Percy—the close clasp of his hand, the fiery intentness of his eyes—which, though it thrilled her, made her feel vaguely uncertain of him. It was like riding a restive horse which must on no account be allowed to obtain the mastery.

"Do you think me absurd?" he said, leaning nearer to her.

Rosemary leaned away, laughing. "Of course I do—utterly! We both are. It's what we came out for, isn't it?"

He thrust his free arm round her. "Rosemary!" he said.

She was on her feet in a moment, still laughing, the glow of excitement on her face. "Come on!" she cried. "Let's dance it off! Let's enjoy every minute! We may never get another chance!"

She was exquisite standing there. Her loveliness had a radiance which seemed to set his blood on fire. He gazed at her as though he had never seen her before, then as she turned he followed, closely, touching her, as though drawn by a magnetic attraction which was beyond all resistance.

When they were dancing together again he held her supple young body pressed close to his own in a kind of ecstasy of possession, and Rosemary, surrendering herself wholly to the enchantment of the hour, forgot her brief uneasiness and suffered all her senses to merge into the magic of a great delight.

It was her first taste, and perhaps it was not surprising that it completely intoxicated her. The whole atmosphere was like a sparkling draught to her which never left her lips. She drank and drank more deeply still, finding the cup as inexhaustible as her desire. She even began to forget that that amazing evening could ever come to an end. The rapture of it thrilled her through and through.

When her previous partner—a young solicitor of Bode called Raymond—came to her for another dance, she refused him with smiling nonchalance. Percy was an excellent dancing-partner after all, and she needed nothing else just then.

The evening was beginning to wear away when the climax of the entertainment arrived. The lights were suddenly turned low, and paper streamers, coloured balls, and feathers were tossed from the gallery among the dancers. The music quickened to a wild medley of sound, and a wave of feverish excitement seemed to sweep through the hall. The lights went out one by one until the sole illumination left was that which filtered down from two great festoons of Chinese lanterns that hung high above the throng.

They continued to dance in the dimness to that mad rush of sound which was somehow like a torrent, and it was to Rosemary as though she hovered on the edge of a whirling vortex into which sooner or later she was bound to be drawn. The crowd was dense, and there was considerable confusion and noise. Everyone was laughing and throwing some sort of missile. She found herself as it were waist-deep in paper which wound around her whichever way she turned. She heard Percy laughing with the rest, and in the reckless fever of the moment she knew that she was laughing also, albeit with that curious sense of something irresistible drawing her.

And then—how it happened she never knew, but she fancied that Percy must have stopped to fling back one of those coloured balls which were flying in all directions—suddenly she was swept from him. An arm that was like a steel spring encircled her. Her feet slid helplessly over the glassy floor. She had a sensation as of falling and yet being held up by a subtle strength that compelled as it were without force, while as she was borne through the confusion a voice whispered into her ear:

"Ah, Cinderella! Caught at last!"