Never Victorious, Never Defeated by Caldwell Taylor;

Author:Caldwell, Taylor;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2018-10-10T16:00:00+00:00

31

“Why?” asked Cornelia. She put her glass to her lips, and over it her stare was bold and fixed. This puny creature with his big solemn eyes! This meager man with whom she had thought herself in love even as late as the past summer! Her humiliation thickened her throat; she wound her arm through Allan’s and repeated, “Why?”

Patrick was extremely distressed. “I’m sorry, Cornelia. It is only a matter of business.” He paused and regarded the girl closely. Her cheeks were crimson; had she drunk too much champagne? She had never stared at him before with this particular dislike. Since his engagement to Laura she had shown him an offhanded and indifferent affection. He began to color. Cornelia smiled, and tightened her hand on Allan’s arm.

“Business?” she repeated. Her voice was more than a little slurred. “Mr. Marshall was about to dance with me, and it is Christmas Eve. No time for business.” She turned to Allan. “You do dance, don’t you?”

Allan had been watching the two closely. He had nothing to fear, now. If Patrick was embarrassed, if he believed that Cornelia still loved him, the more fool he. Allan put his hand over the hand on his arm, and looking at Patrick he replied to the girl: “Yes.” He continued with more deliberation: “Yes, I do dance. I have taken daily lessons for over three weeks. I can waltz very well.”

Cornelia threw back her head and bellowed mirthfully. Then her face changed, became almost ugly. She tilted her glass toward Patrick, and said, “I’ll spare Allan for a moment. But, Pat, if I were you I wouldn’t mention Allan’s origins to anyone.”

“I don’t understand,” Patrick answered, his color deepening.

“Oh, yes you do. I saw the wrinkle in your fragile nose tonight, when you saw him here. Papa and I won’t like it in the least if you try to disparage Allan.”

Patrick looked quickly at Allan. But Allan displayed nothing but pleasure. Cornelia was patting his arm; some of the champagne had spilled over her gray velvet dress. “Go on, Allan, let the little boy tell you his story.” She tossed her head and went off, followed by many glances of admiration.

Patrick regarded the floor for a moment, and then in a low voice he said, “In the far corner. Near the Christmas tree. It isn’t lighted yet, and no one is near it.” Allan shrugged, and the two young men, murmuring regrets to those they passed, reached the comparatively secluded spot where a giant spruce, brilliantly decorated, candles still unlighted, waited for the stroke of twelve. Allan stood with his back to the tree, and Patrick stopped before him. “Well?” said Allan. He fumbled for his cigarette case automatically; then, noticing that no other man was smoking, it came to him that it would be improper among the ladies. He dropped his hand. A servant came by with another tray of champagne, and Allan reached out and captured a glass. He put it to his mouth.

Insolent, thought Patrick.

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