The McCook tribune. (McCook, Neb.) 1886-1936, 1895-07-19

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"Oh. how she has made me suffer-"
Evidently she had heard and COM
pretended the words of Capt. Blake.
What does it matter??" said Arthur
Curzon. Nobody shall cheat us of
our dance, Dolores. You do not hate
me, little bird?' He would have
deemed his tone sentimental, even
lachrymose. in another man.
She lifted her fower-like face, as if
Turing sweetness in smile and dimple.
How could l ever hate your she
questioned.
He looked at her in silence. She
was there under his protection, but
surely some emotion deeper, more
subtle, blended of pain and bliss, than
the chivalrous sentiment of the gen.
tleman and the sailor, was awakening
in his nature.
Already the orchestra breathed
forth the first notes of Strauss Swal-
low Waltz, in which the listener feels
the posing of the bird on ~flutter-
ing wing before launching into wide
circles of fight.
Lieut.. Curzon led his partner to the
ballroom, and had already clasped his
arm around her slender waist, when
the message of the Grand Duke was
communicated to her. Was Dolores.
surprised or pleased, tasting a
first triumph? Her color went
and came quickly, still she did not
attempt to withdraw her hand from
that of Arthur Curzon, even to listen.
"Shall 1 accept?" she inquired,
archly.
Yes"
The couple glided away into the
midst of the dancers, leaving Mrs.
Griffith disturbed and displeased by
SO much audacity and coquetry!
Was it a mere waltz, after all. the
brief span of time when society ac-
corded these two the privilege of obey
ing the rhythm of the music, and the
rose in her hair brushing his lips, and
her light form obeying every impulse
of his guiding and encircling arm?
Both forgot the Grand Duke, the ball,
mere external circumstances. They
were alone in a world of life and
radiance. moving through space, al
most without personal volition, at
tuned to the strains of delightful
harmonies.
In the sailors instructive
yielding to the spell of a waltz
easur it was apparent that
the sea had been his dancing master,
and the wind his musician, imparting
buoyancy alike to pulse and limb. In
his zest of enjoyment he more closely
resembled the Frenchman, or the Ital-
ian, than the average young Briton.
who stalks gloomily through the mazes
of the modern dance.
AS for Dolores, the blood of her race
asserted the right of agility and light
ness. spurning the trammels of ordi-
nary instruction in the terpsichorean
art. The pupils of the convent school
had danced together, during hours of
play, as they had laughed or sung.
Dolores had often been their leader,
but such ~rndimentary practice of steps
could not explain the innate grace of
her movements in the Swallow Waltz.
Other forms mingled and separated
about her in giddy circles, and the
waves of soft draperies broke over
without submerging her in the folds
of silken gauze, shot with variegated
colors, the rich bloom of velvet, golden
and peach-tinted tissues. Once she
was confronted by the calm face of
Miss Symthe, making a turf of the
dances with the Grand Duke, and again
the singer Melita gave her a friendly,
half-amused nod of the head in pass
ing.
All too soon the music ceased to re-
sound, and Dolores found herself on Il
terrace softly lighted with tinted
lamps placed amid masses of palms
and ferns.
Il am to dance with the Grand
Duke next, 1 suppose suggested this
southern daughter Of Eve, glancing
up at her companion through her long
and silky eyelashes.
"Will that give you p~leasure:'
Il don't know. Perhaps am a little
afraid. l wish our waltz had lasted
longer
81 wish it had lasted forever,
Dolores"
Calm reason no longer guided Arthur
Curzon, eve a clear perception of the
reality of things was merging in the
intoxication of the hour. The Swal-
low Waltz of the magician Strauss
still palpitated through his frame and
hummed in his ears. He took her
card, scrutinized 1t with severity, and
erased the pane of Capt. Blake
with q lofty, masculine unconcern OF
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