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Updated: May 24, 2025
"I'm afraid it's too late now, Nick," she said rather wearily. "I must keep my engagements." Nick turned and sent one of his keen glances over her. "You won't keep this one," he told her. "I am simply not going to allow it. Those supper-dances are mine, so make up your mind to that!" He spoke with a finality that made protest seem futile.
Olga danced that night with the feeling that she danced upon her grave, reminding herself continually, as the hours slipped by, that it was her last night of freedom. The failure of Nick to appear for the supper-dances diverted her thoughts from this but to send them with ever-growing anxiety into a new channel. Where was Nick? What was happening to him? What could be delaying him?
I shall follow on if I'm late. In any case," he turned to Olga, "I shall be in time for those supper-dances." His look flashed over her with a species of quizzical tenderness. "And you are not to give any dances to Hunt-Goring, mind, whatever the bounder says." He was gone. Free, careless, upright, he strode humming along the verandah and swung round the corner out of sight.
But remember the supper-dances are mine." She started a little. "Oh, Nick dear, I'm afraid I've promised those already." "To whom?" said Nick swiftly. "Major Hunt-Goring." Her voice was low; she did not look at him as she uttered the name. Nick's eyebrows shot upwards with lightning rapidity; then drew into a frown.
That Douglas Falloden danced with her repeatedly, that they sat out together through most of the supper-dances, that there was a sheltered corner in the illuminated quad, beside the Græco-Roman fountain which an archæological warden had given to the college, where, involuntarily, his troubled eyes discovered them more than once: this at least Sorell knew, and could not help knowing.
But there's only one way out, you know. You'll have to give in now. And the sooner the better." "I shall see you on Thursday," she said. "Yes, I shall be there. Keep the supper-dances for me! We'll find a quiet corner somewhere and enjoy ourselves. Till Thursday then! Good-bye!" "Good-bye!" she said. He was gone.
Before he went, he asked her to keep the first four dances for him at the Marmion ball, and two supper-dances. But Constance evaded a direct assent. She would do her best. But she had promised some to Mr. Pryce, and some to Mr. Radowitz. Falloden's look darkened. "You should not allow him to dance with you," he said imperiously. "He is too eccentric.
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