...
She went off with him. The waltz began.
She sank into sweet delicious waters--waters that rocked and cradled her,
hugged her and caressed her. She was conscious of his arm. She did not
speak nor did he. Years of utter happiness passed....
He did not take her, as Mr. Forsyth had done, into the public glare of the
passage, but up a crooked staircase behind the Minstrels' Gallery into a
little room, cool and shaded, where, in easy-chairs, they were quite
alone.
He was shy, fingering his gloves. She said (just to make conversation):
"How beautiful Miss Daubeney is looking!"
"Do you think so?" said Johnny. "I don't. I'm sick of that girl. She's the
most awful bore. Mother's always shoving her at my head. She's been
staying with us for months. She wants me to marry her because she's rich.
But we've got plenty, and I wouldn't marry her anyway, not if we hadn't a
penny. Because she's a bore, and because"--his voice became suddenly loud
and commanding--"I'm going to marry you."
Something--some lovely bird of Paradise, some splendid coloured breeze,
some carpet of magic pattern--came and swung Joan up to a high tree loaded
with golden apples.
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