His
languor vanished. His blue eyes sparkled. Julian was astonished at his
intense vivacity. He laughed, made jokes, became absolutely boyish.
"Why, Val, how gay you are!" Julian said.
"Every one is gay to-night."
He was interrupted by a roar of laughter. The man in the boots was
becoming immoderately whimsical. His feet seemed to have escaped from
control, and to be prancing in Paradise while he looked on in Purgatory.
"Every one is gay."
As Valentine repeated the words, and the huge theatre laughed like one
enormous person, Julian felt again the strange thrill of overmastering
excitement that had shaken him on the night when he and Valentine had
leaned out of the Victoria Street window. The strength of the spring
and of his long tended and repressed young instincts stirred within
him mightily. Scales fell from his eyes. From the car of the balloon
he gazed down, and it seemed to him that they--Valentine, Cuckoo,
and himself--were drifting over a new country, of which all the
inhabitants were young, gay, careless, rightly irresponsible. The
rows of open-mouthed, laughing faces called to him to join in their
mirth,--more, to join in their lives, and in the lives of the pirouetting
hours. He moved in his chair as if he were impelled to get up and leave
his seat.
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