So
young Boylston was in the syndicate too!
Presently Woburn was aware that she had forgotten young Boylston and was
glancing absently about the room. She was looking for some one, and meant
the some one to know it: he knew that _Lost-Chord_ look in her eyes.
A new figure was being formed. The partners circled about the room and
Miss Talcott's flying tulle drifted close to him as she passed. Then the
favors were distributed; white skirts wavered across the floor like
thistle-down on summer air; men rose from their seats and fresh couples
filled the shining _parquet_.
Miss Talcott, after taking from the basket a Legion of Honor in red
enamel, surveyed the room for a moment; then she made her way through the
dancers and held out the favor to Woburn. He fastened it in his coat, and
emerging from the crowd of men about the doorway, slipped his arm about
her. Their eyes met; hers were serious and a little sad. How fine and
slender she was! He noticed the little tendrils of hair about the pink
convolution of her ear. Her waist was firm and yet elastic; she breathed
calmly and regularly, as though dancing were her natural motion. She did
not look at him again and neither of them spoke.
When the music ceased they paused near her chair. Her partner was waiting
for her and Woburn left her with a bow.
He made his way down-stairs and out of the house. He was glad that he had
not spoken to Miss Talcott. There had been a healing power in their
silence.
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