He should not have come out on to the dancing-floor. In another
moment he was admitting that himself. For just as he was lowering
his tray and bending over the table in the pursuance of his
professional duties, along came Bill at his customary high rate
of speed, propelling his partner before him, and for the first
time since he left home Heinrich was conscious of a regret that he
had done so. There are worse things than military service!
It was the table that saved Bill. He clutched at it and it
supported him. He was thus enabled to keep the Good Sport from
falling and to assist Heinrich to rise from the morass of glasses,
knives, and pats of butter in which he was wallowing. Then, the
dance having been abandoned by mutual consent, he helped his now
somewhat hysterical partner back to their table.
Remorse came upon Bill. He was sorry that he had danced; sorry
that he had upset Heinrich; sorry that he had subjected the Good
Sport's nervous system to such a strain; sorry that so much glass
had been broken and so many pats of butter bruised beyond repair.
But of one thing, even in that moment of bleak regrets, he was
distinctly glad, and that was that all these things had taken
place three thousand miles away from Claire Fenwick. He had not
been appearing at his best, and he was glad that Claire had not
seen him.
Pages:
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85