meeting that he had called her Mary. She could hear him demanding, Lasca, may I call you Mrs. Sartoris?
Well then, watch us in the next dance, Mrs. Sartoris invited.
Byron looked a trifle astonished, but also Mary could see that he was definitely pleased. She was certain from his expression that he had not asked the woman for the next dance. The perfect poise of this daring creature amazed Mary. Would he refuse?
Yes, she heard him say, watch us, Mary.
How Mary hated her! How she longed for the strength, the primitive impulse that would urge her to spring at Lasca's throat, tear away the collar of sapphires, disfigure that golden-brown countenance with her nails.
What about the one after that, Mary? Byron suggested.
It's taken, Mary retorted defiantly.
Then suppose you give me that one too, Lasca begged with her divine smile. You're really too generous, Miss Love. Byron is the best dancer here.
Even in her present mood, Mary could not fail to appreciate the rich music in the woman's voice, the grace of her carriage as she stood resting her weight on one foot while with the other she carelessly traced an invisible pattern on the floor. She also became aware of the flexible bands of diamonds
