He's a beast,
and I loathe the thought of having danced with him--there!--I'm sorry!"
She held out her hand.
Buntingford was supremely touched, and could not for the moment find a
jest wherewith to disguise it.
"Thank you!" he said quietly, at last. "Thank you, Helena. That was very
nice of you." And with a sudden movement he stooped and kissed the wet
and rather quivering hand he held. At the same moment, the searchlight
which had been travelling about the pond, lighting up one boat after
another to the amusement of the persons in them, and of those watching
from the shore, again caught the boat in which sat Buntingford and
Helena. Both figures stood sharply out. Then the light had travelled on,
and Helena had hastily withdrawn her hand.
She fell back on the cushions of the stern seat, vexed with her own
agitation. She had described herself truly. She was proud, and it was
hard for her to "climb down." But there was much else in the mixed
feeling that possessed her. There seemed, for one thing, to be a curious
happiness in it; combined also with a renewed jealousy for an
independence she might have seemed to be giving away.
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