was always ready for mischief and she liked Emory Gale, but, too, she honestly wanted her future husband to realize that it was her intention to dance all she chose and as she chose, both before and after her marriage to him.
So, as they neared Arnold, their step became more daring, their pose more relaxed, and though it meant nothing to the dancers, Arnold saw it and went white with fury. Without looking at her fiancé, Dorothy kept her earnest gaze on Gale, partly to watch his intended direction, and as much to tease the man who looked angrily after her.
"He's madder'n hops," announced Gale, cheerfully; "shall we go round again?"
Dorothy had lost her head a little in the whirling rhythm, and she only whispered, "Yes," and went on dipping and swaying to the enticing music.
"Let's do that last new 'Humoresque,'" murmured Gale, as they neared Arnold, and as they passed him, both were engrossed in the intricacies of the difficult dance.
Arnold, in his ignorance, mistook their absorption for interest in each other, and ground his teeth in rage as they went by without a look toward him.
The music stopped, and flushed and a little breathless, but indescribably lovely, Dorothy, leaning on Gale's arm, sauntered to Arnold's corner.
"There, Justy, how do you like our very latest achievement?" and Dorothy bridled with pretty vanity.
If there was one thing Arnold hated it was to be called "Justy," and Dorothy knew it. But her spirit of mischief was in the ascendant to-night, and she couldn't resist adding fuel to the flame she had already roused.
"It's absolutely disgraceful, Dorothy, and I forbid you ever to give such an exhibition again!"
"Oh, come, now, old chap," said Gale, "don't be so old-fogy and back-woodsy and hidebound—"
"And old-maidish," put in Dorothy, "and dog-in-the-mangerish! Just because you can't dance, you needn't revile my skill in that direction."
"And, by Jove, skill it is!" exclaimed Crosby, who had come up. "I say, Dorothy, I never saw any one put that through as you did! The next is ours, isn't it?"
"Indeed it isn't," laughed Dorothy, "the next is Mr. Gale's."
This was too much for Arnold. Taking Dorothy's arm a little firmly, he led her into the next room, which was the big, cosy living-room.
"Help, help!" called Dorothy, laughing over her shoulder, and Gale and Crosby followed the pair.
Unafraid of Arnold when there were others present, Dorothy flung herself on a big sofa among a heap of cushions.
"Now scold," she said, looking up at her tortured lover.
Who could scold such a vision of loveliness? Her perfect arms extended along the cushions, her dainty feet crossed, and her roguish, daring face smiling with full assurance of her own power.
Arnold stood in front of her, and tried to steel himself against this witchery.
"I am going to scold you, Dorothy," he began, but she interrupted, "No, you're not!" and sprang up and faced him.
There was a tense, breathless moment, as if the two wills measured against each other. Dorothy stood, one hand resting on a library table, her parted lips matching her scarlet frock, her eyes and hair black as night, and her compelling glance holding Arnold's own. Watching closely, she saw his mouth relax a trifle and she knew she had won.
The reaction left her a little embarrassed, for both Gale and Crosby were watching the scene. In her nervousness, Dorothy fingered the articles on the table, and chanced to touch a Spanish dagger lying there. It was a dangerous looking affair, and though there for the purposes of a paper-cutter, it was rarely used, and even the parlormaid touched it gingerly when dusting. Dorothy's face broke into smiles, and grasping the thing, she struck an attitude like a miniature and very modern Judith, and cried:
"Stop looking daggers at me, Justin, or I will return your glance thus!"
With a mock-tragic gesture, she pointed the dagger at Arnold's heart, and then, tossing it back on the table, she smiled and said:
"No, I'll punish you this way, instead," and rising on tip-toe she kissed him lightly on the cheek.
Not yet accustomed to this volatility, Arnold looked first bewildered, then pleased, then embarrassed. "Dorothy!" he mumbled, "before people!"
"Oh, these people don't mind; do you, boys?" and Dorothy smiled carelessly at her audience of two. Then she picked up the dagger again. "I love the feel of these things," she said, running her little forefinger lightly along the blade. "I think my ancestors were pirates and Spanish dancing girls! A stab in the dark!" and making a lunge toward Gale, she assumed the attitude of a small but very ferocious pirate.
"Dorothy! for heaven's sake, behave yourself!" cried Arnold; "put that thing down!"
"All right," and Dorothy laid the dagger in its place; "but I do feel dramatic. Mayn't I play tableaux, Justin?"
"Play whatever you like, if you don't touch that fiendish thing! I'll have it thrown away!"
"No, don't!" cried Dorothy, "I just love it! Give it to me, won't you, dear! For a wedding present? But you'll have to, if you give me 'all your worldly goods.' Well, I still feel dramatic. If I can't play with the dagger, I'll have to choose more simple themes. Mr. Gale, will you play 'Living Pictures' with me?"
"Yes, if you'll show me how, I'm at your service. What must I do?"
Gale stepped forward and stood in a waiting position.
Dorothy looked at him thoughtfully, her head on one side, like a perplexed connoisseur.
"Why," she said, laughing, "you look exactly like the man in that foolish old picture of 'The Huguenot Lovers.' See, this way."
Dorothy caught up a light couch cover and draped it over Gale's shoulder, and then, announcing, in showman-like voice, "The famous painting, 'The Huguenot Lovers,'" she threw herself into Gale's arms and assumed a most exaggerated look of despairing affection.
Gale quickly caught the allusion and cleverly took the pose shown in the well-known picture. It was over in a moment, and laughing Dorothy sprang back, saying, "I always thought I had dramatic talent; now I'm sure of it! Why don't you applaud, Justin?"
"Never mind him," said Campbell Crosby, "he's got a grouch to-night. Come, play a 'Living Picture' with me, Dorothy; what shall it be? Oh, I know! Do you remember that fearful old thing called 'Alone at Last!'?"
"Yes!" said Dorothy, laughing, "it is in my great aunt's parlor. It's like this."
Crosby, with clever caricature, reproduced the stilted pose of the hero of the old classic, and Dorothy hung around his neck in a dragging way, with a look of utter infatuation on her lovely face.
Arnold missed the burlesque effect and saw only the embrace. He rose steadily, though he felt as if the earth were rocking beneath him.
"I've had enough of this," he said, in a low, even voice, and walked slowly toward the door.
"Oh, wait, Justy," cried Dorothy, "I'm going to give 'The Conscript's Departure' next, and I want you to act it with me."
"Thank you," said Arnold, not looking at her, "I have no talent for that sort of thing. You have all the mummers you need."
"But you are acting a picture now!" called Dorothy, as he reached the door; "you're giving a splendid representation of 'The Girl I Left Behind Me'!"
Arnold strode away, and Gale said, curiously, "Aren't you afraid to stir him up like that?"
"I'd be afraid not to," and Dorothy spoke without a smile; "I must get him used to my foolishness, if I expect to have any fun at all after I'm married."
"But will you be married, if you go much further in this mad career that you're pursuing tonight?"
"Oh, yes, if I want to. I'll give Justin a little while to calm down and then I'll go and 'make up.' I'm a great little old make-upper, I am."