er came
from the entrance hall, where they had stood so long. The old man had
merely donned a domino over his evening dress and carried his mask in
his hand; but Miss Penelope had had her elaborate dress copied from a
picture of Lord Antony's wife, which hung in the Picture Gallery. The
gown was composed of soft grey satin, over which hung a veil of gold
chiffon embroidered with pearls. An embroidery of gold wheat-ears sown
with pearls decorated the bodice and the long, grey satin train; this,
together with the family diamonds, made Miss Penelope an imposing
figure, even in that bevy of fair women and gorgeous gowns.

Immediately behind them came Adrien and Lady Constance. The latter had
chosen to represent "Miranda," and her loveliness seemed almost
supernatural. The pale gold of her hair and the perfect shell-pink of
her complexion were set off to advantage by her gown, which, simple as
it was, yet showed by that very simplicity the hand of the master by
whom it had been designed. It was of palest green satin, edged with
chiffon in such a way as to represent the crested waves, relieved here
and there by pink sea-shells and tiny wreaths of seaweed; while her only
ornaments were pearls, the gifts of her guardian. It was little wonder
that Adrien had been unable to express the admiration he felt, when he
looked upon her fair beauty, which was now, however, covered by a velvet
mask.

He himself had taken the character of Charles the First, and, with his
dark, deep eyes and melancholy face, fully looked the part of the
unhappy monarch. There was a faint murmur of admiration as he entered,
for every detail had been so carefully copied, from the lace collar to
the jewelled order across his breast, that it was as if Van Dyck's
famous picture itself had stepped down from its frame.

Unconscious of the attention they provoked, Adrien led Lady Constance
out to the first dance, and opened the ball with her.

Miss Penelope was in the seventh heaven of delight, when some little
time later Adrien came up to her.

"What a magnificent sight, is it not, Adrien?" she said excitedly. "I
knew it would be a success; but really the dresses are wonderful. Then
the mystery is so delightful. I can't recognise any one now under the
masks. Look, who is that?" She glanced towards a lady dressed as Undine,
who seemed to float by them, so light were her movements, on the arm of
a Mephistopheles.

"That," said Adrien, whose quick eyes readily