The floor resembled some gigantic kaleidoscope, one gay pattern
following another in rapid succession. And in every group the most vivid
note was struck by a flashing red bird. Even had word not gone abroad
that the girls in crimson and black were from the "Rag Time Follies",
Birdie's conspicuous charms would have created instant comment and a host
of admirers.
Nance, with characteristic independence, soon swung out of Birdie's orbit
and made friends for herself. For her it was a night of delirium, and her
pulses hammered in rhythm to the throbbing music. In one day life had
caught her up out of an abyss of gloom and swung her to a dizzy pinnacle
of delight, where she poised in exquisite ecstasy, fearing that the next
turn of the wheel might carry her down again. Laughter had softened her
lips and hung mischievous lights in her eyes; happiness had set her
nerves tingling and set roses blooming in cheeks and lips. The smoldering
fires of self-expression, smothered so long, burst into riotous flame.
With utter abandonment she flung herself into the merriment of the
moment, romping through the dances with any one who asked her, slapping
the face of an elderly knight who went too far in his gallantries,
dancing a hornpipe with a fat clown to the accompaniment of a hundred
clapping hands. Up and down the crowded hall she raced, a hoydenish
little tom-boy, drunk with youth, with freedom, and with the pent-up
vitality of years.
Close after her, snatching her away from the other dancers only to have
her snatched away from him in turn, was Mac Clarke, equally flushed and
excited, refusing to listen to Monte's insistent reminder that a storm
was brewing and they ought to go home.
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