A late arrival, entering unobtrusively while the dancing was in full swing, seeing Mr Morgan standing disconsolately in the doorway, came to a halt beside him, and noting the heavy boredom of his look, was moved to address him, though he had no particular liking for the man he accosted, and was not sure how his advances would be received.
“Something of a crush inside, sir,” he observed. “There doesn’t appear to be any room for me.”
Mr Morgan turned his head and surveyed the speaker. A light of surprised recognition flashed into his sombre eyes, and, after a slight show of hesitation, he held out his hand.
“Steele!” he exclaimed. “The last man I expected to see. Where do you spring from?”
Steele laughed quietly.
“The war brought me back,” he said. “I arrived two days ago, and of course came home. Mrs Henry met me yesterday outside the bank—and so I’m here. She told me she was short of men. The shortage isn’t apparent.” He stared into the densely packed room and smiled. “One can’t imagine Mrs Henry short of anything. It looks ripping.”
“Beastly crush!” Edward Morgan muttered. “I hate this sort of thing.”
The smile in the young man’s eyes deepened, but the rest of his face was grave. He was wondering why Mr Morgan put himself to the inconvenience of attending an entertainment against his inclination.
“It doesn’t look as though my chance of securing partners was rosy,” he remarked. “I’m horribly late.”
He had not made any great effort to get there earlier. He had felt no particular interest in the dance to which he had been so urgently and unceremoniously bidden. But he deplored his lateness sincerely when, as the music slowed down before finally ceasing, he caught an amazingly unexpected vision of soft white and gold, with cheeks flushed like a wild rose, and with wide blue eyes opened to their fullest as they encountered his eager gaze. Prudence’s eyes looked into his; and the lights and the music and the crowd melted magically away. She was back in the past, with the scent of gloire de Dijon roses filling the air, and one voice only breaking across immeasurable distance, and falling on her ears like a note, lost and now recalled, the dear familiar sound of a voice to which her heart responded and which flooded the universe with the music of the spring.