The first bars of another dance number sang through the confusion of
voices: truly, as Sophie had foretold, a waltz.
XVIII
DANSE MACABRE
Trained in the old school of the dance, Lanyard was unversed in that
graceless scamper which to-day passes as the waltz with a generation
largely too indolent or too inept of foot to learn to dance.
His was that flowing waltz of melting rhythm, the waltz of yesterday,
that dance of dances to whose measures a civilization more sedate in its
amusements, less jealous of its time, danced, flirted, loved, and broke its
hearts.
Into the swinging movement of that antiquated waltz Lanyard fell without
a qualm of doubt, all ignorant as he was of his benighted ignorance; and
instantly, with the ease and gracious assurance of a dancer born, Cecelia
Brooke adapted herself to his step and guidance, with rare pliancy made her
every movement exquisitely synchronous with his.
No need to lead her, no need for more than the least of pressures upon her
yielding waist, no need for anything but absolute surrender to the magic of
the moment.
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