After the dance he waved aside Sally's many partners, not so
gaily as would have been consistent with good feeling, and led her away.
I followed. They ended up that walk at the extreme corner of the patio,
where, under gaily colored lights, a little arbor had been made among
the flowers and vines.
Sally seemed to have lost something of her vivacity. They had not been
out of my sight for a moment before Sally cried out. It was a cry of
impatience or remonstrance, rather than alarm, but I decided that it
would serve me an excuse.
I dashed back, leaped to the door of the arbor, my hand on my gun.
Wright was holding Sally. When he heard me he let her go. Then she
uttered a cry that was one of alarm. Her face blanched; her eyes grew
strained. One hand went to her breast. She thought I meant to kill
Wright.
"Excuse me," I burst out frankly, turning to Wright. I never saw a
hyena, but he looked like one. "I heard a squeal. Thought a girl was
hurt, or something. Miss Sampson gave me orders to watch out for
accidents, fire, anything. So excuse me, Wright."
As I stepped back, to my amazement, Sally, excusing herself to the
scowling Wright, hurriedly joined me.
"Oh, it's our dance, Russ!"
She took my arm and we walked through the patio.
Pages:
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101