Nurse Lang by Jean S. Macleod Read Free Book Online

meats, and Moira was conscious of him watching her while she ate, smiling at her frank enjoyment of the novelty of the food. She was too happy to wonder whether his gaze was critical or not and he seemed to be entering more into the spirit of their adventure as time went on.
    Moira did not want to miss a minute of it. She felt that she wanted to laugh and sing with the people down there in the flower-strewn square and she rose as soon as they had finished their meal and crossed nearer to the window.
    The muted guitar music had taken on a new insistency and she turned to meet Grant’s eyes across the table. He held out his hand to her.
    “Come!” he said. “We appear to be missing something worth seeing.”
    He paid his bill and they were ushered out to the pavement by a beaming landlord who invited them, with traditional Spanish hospitality, to pass that way soon again.
    A procession of dancers and young people was forming in the square, the women in their colorful, embroidered scarves and their feet already tapping impatiently to the rhythm of the dance, the men in their fullsleeved satin shirts and goat-skin waistcoats with their scarlet cummerbunds swathed round their waists and their black sombreros tied securely under their chins. There was an air of expectation as the dance began.
    Grant and Moira moved aside to watch, but after an hour there were very few spectators left. Everyone had been drawn into the merry throng and the spirit of fiesta was complete.
    Moira danced with laughter spilling over in her eyes and flooding into her heart. This was something she had never hoped to see, and Grant Melmore’s nearness was like heady wine in the bright sunlight, as stimulating as the strange pulsating music to which they both moved so easily.
    When they were tired they sank into wicker chairs at the table under the palms and a smiling Spanish girl brought them long, cool drinks and plates of avocado pears smothered in cream.
    “Had enough?” Grant asked, glancing at his watch for the first time.
    “I don’t want to know the time!” Moira declared. “It’s passing far too quickly, I know.”
    Shortly afterwards he told her that it was almost four o’clock.
    “If we are to get back to Las Palmas before the sun goes down,” he said, “we really shouldn’t wait much longer.”
    As if the dancers had sensed her reluctance to leave their festive village, they were whirled back into the gay, laughing throng as soon as they stood up and attempted to make their way across the square in search of the hired carriage. This time a gay chain was in progress and garlands of flowers were being caught up and flung round the young girls’ necks. They began to form into smaller circles through which the young men wove their way to the increasing tempo of the music and now and then a couple would be caught in the whirling rings where they would stop and kiss in a flower-decked embrace while the others laughed and clapped their hands. It seemed that to be captured thus was the hallmark of popularity, but whether the kiss had any binding significance it was difficult to say. Laughter was the keynote of the game and the sunshine promoted laughter. It spun all around Moira and her companion like golden dust until they, too, were caught in the dancers’ ring, facing each other in the magic circle.
    A garland of flowers was thrust into Grant’s hands, a chain of small white gardenias roped together with gleaming smilax, and he came towards her and put it over her head in traditional fashion.
    “ Caramba! Caramba! ” the dancers cried. “The kiss! The kiss!”
    Moira drew back. Excitement was running in her veins like fire and protest caught her by the throat. She wanted Grant to kiss her and she did not. It was a game, the climax of the dance. It could mean nothing, yet his eyes were looking into hers and they held demand.
    “It’s expected of us, Moira,” he said, and his lips came down, sudden and strong against her