Indifferent to criticism, kind or otherwise, Noreen gave herself up for the
evening to the happiness of Dermot's presence, trying to trick herself into
the belief that he was still only a dear friend to whom she owed an immense
debt of gratitude for saving her life and her honour. Never had a ball
seemed so enjoyable--not even her first. Never had she had a partner who
suited her so well. Certainly he danced to perfection, but she knew that if
he had been the worst dancer in the room she still would have preferred him
to all others. And never had she hated the ending of an entertainment so
much. But Dermot walked beside her _dandy_ to the gate of her hotel, calmly
displacing Charlesworth, much to the fury of the Rifleman, who had begun to
consider this his prerogative.
Ida and she sat up for hours in her room discussing the ball and all its
happenings, but the older woman's most constant topic was Dermot. It was a
subject of which Noreen felt that she could never weary; and she drew her
friend on to talk of him, if the conversation threatened to stray to
anything less interesting. The girl was used to Ida's sudden fancies for
men, for the married woman was both susceptible and fickle, and Noreen
judged that this sudden predilection for Dermot would die as quickly as a
hundred others before it. But this time she was wrong.
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