As Tavernake set his glass
down, his eyes fell upon the little party who had just taken the
table almost next to theirs. There were Walter Crease, Major
Post, two men whom he had never seen before in his life--heavy of
cheek, both, dull-eyed, but dressed with a rigid observance of
the fashion of the city, in short dinner coats and black ties.
And between them was Elizabeth. Tavernake gripped the sides of
his chair and looked. Yes, she had altered. Her eyebrows were a
trifle made up, there was a tinge in her hair which he did not
recognize, a touch of color in her cheeks which he doubted. Yet
her figure and her wonderful presence remained, that art of
wearing her clothes as no other woman could. She was easily the
most noticeable-looking of her sex among all the people there.
Tavernake heard the sound of her voice and once more the thrill
came and passed. She was the same Elizabeth. Thank God, he
thought, that he was not the same Tavernake!
"Do you wish to go?" Pritchard asked.
Tavernake shook his head.
"Not I!" he answered. "This place is far too fascinating. Can't
we have some more wine? This is my treat. And, Pritchard, why
do you look at me like that? You are not supposing for a moment
that I am capable of making an ass of myself again?"
Pritchard smiled in a relieved fashion.
"My young friend," he said, "I have lived in the world so long
and seen so many strange things, especially between men and
women, that I am never surprised at anything.
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