Two or
three of these groups had resolved themselves into detached
couples, who wandered down the acacia walk to the sound of a harp
in the grand saloon or the occasional uplifting of a thin Spanish
tenor. Two of these couples were Maruja and Garnier, followed by
Amita and Raymond.
"You are restless to-night, Maruja," said Amita, shyly endeavoring
to make a show of keeping up with her sister's boyish stride, in
spite of Raymond's reluctance. "You are paying for your
wakefulness to-day."
The same idea passed through the minds of both men. She was
missing the excitement of Captain Carroll's presence.
"The air is so refreshing away from the house," responded Maruja,
with a bright energy that belied any suggestion of fatigue or moral
disquietude. "I'm tired of running against those turtle-doves in
the walks and bushes. Let us keep on to the lane. If you are
tired, Mr. Raymond will give you his arm."
They kept on, led by the indomitable little figure, who, for once,
did not seem to linger over the attentions, both piquant and
tender, with which Garnier improved his opportunity. Given a
shadowy lane, a lovers' moon, a pair of bright and not unkindly
eyes, a charming and not distant figure--what more could he want?
Yet he wished she hadn't walked so fast. One might be vivacious,
audacious, brilliant, at an Indian trot; but impassioned--never!
The pace increased; they were actually hurrying. More than that,
Maruja had struck into a little trot; her lithe body swaying from
side to side, her little feet straight as an arrow before her;
accompanying herself with a quaint musical chant, which she
obligingly explained had been taught her as a child by Pereo.
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