She was abundantly able to take care of herself, he
reflected with angry amusement; or, if not, the very pavement would
spring up with troops of men to assist her. She was the sort of woman
whose mere presence creates cavaliers, even in the most unlikely
places.
The cool outer air seemed to wake him from a bad dream. He walked
hastily through the quiet streets toward the Clergy House, full of
disordered thoughts, wondering whether the ball were yet over, or if
Berenice were still dancing in the arms of other men. The blood flushed
into his cheeks at the thought. He hated furiously the partner against
whose shoulder her white, bare arm might be resting. He looked back
with ever growing anger to the scene at the dance, tingling with shame
at the humiliation, at the thought of standing before the women who had
laughed when Berenice had fastened upon his breast the tawdry trinket
which seemed chosen purposely to mock him. He wished that he had kept
the toy, that he might now throw it down into the mire and tread on it.
Yet grotesque and insulting as the thing had been, he was conscious
that if the little mask were still in his possession he should not have
been able to trample on it, but should have taken it to his lips
instead.
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