Henderson put the ring into his pocket, and began the dance. He could feel the muscular spasms of the girl in his arms, her face was cold and hard, but her breath burned with the scorch of fever. She finished the dance and all others, taking Phil's numbers with Henderson, who had arrived too late to arrange a programme. She left with the others, merely inclining her head as she passed Ammon's father taking his place, and entered the big touring car for which Henderson had telephoned.
She sank limply into a seat and moaned softly.
"Shall I drive a while in the night air?" asked Henderson.
She nodded. Henderson instructed the chauffeur.
She raised her head in a few seconds. "Hart, I'm going to pieces," she said. "Won't you put your arm around me a little while?"
Henderson gathered her into his arms and her head fell on his shoulder. "Closer!" she cried.
Henderson gripped her with the strength of a practised athlete, and held her until his arms were numb, but he did not know it. The tricks of fate are cruel enough, but there scarcely could have been a worse one than that. To care for a woman as he loved Edith Carr and have her given into his arms because she was so numb with misery over her trouble with another man that she did not know or care what she did. Dawn was streaking the east when he spoke to her.
"Edith, it is growing light."
"Take me home," she said.
