u are to the rest of us."

His partner laughed; she was a bright little brunette, flushed with the
dance, and thoroughly happy.

"Why should we wear our hearts upon our sleeves for cynics such as you
to peck at?" she replied. "The art of dissembling is one of our few
privileges. But do you think the Countess is angry? She is so
beautiful."

"Marvellous!" exclaimed the cynic, raising his eyebrows. "Dear Lady
Chetwold, is it possible that I hear one beautiful woman praise
another's looks?"

The little lady flushed.

"It would be a greater marvel still if you men gave us credit for just a
_little_ generosity. But, tell me Mr. Shelton, where is Adrien Leroy?"

"My dear lady," said Shelton, with a wicked twinkle in his eyes, "if I
knew that Lady Merivale would be down on me like the proverbial load of
bricks. He was to have been here; but his movements are as uncertain as
her ladyship's smiles. See, she has fairly extinguished poor
Hadley--drowned in sweetness!"

"You are a horror," laughed his companion as the waltz came to an end.
"I shall be quite afraid of you in the future--I'd no idea you were so
cynical."

"I could never be cynical with _you_," he said gallantly. "By the way,
have you seen Prince Pfowsky to-night?"

"Yes," said Lady Chetwold, "I am engaged to him for the next dance--if
he remembers it. He is always so forgetful."

"'Put not your trust in princes,'" quoted Shelton. "But if his Highness
should be so ungrateful, perhaps you will allow me the pleasure----"

"Certainly not," she retorted brightly; "Caesar or nothing!"

"And here he comes," laughed Mortimer; adding softly, as the Prince came
up to claim his partner, "and here is some one even more
interesting--look."

Lady Chetwold followed the direction of his gaze and saw Adrien Leroy
advancing up the rose-decked room. As usual, his appearance created
something like a stir, for he was popular with men and women alike, and
no smart gathering seemed quite complete without him. But the young man
appeared totally unconscious of the interest he was evoking as he bent
over his hostess's hand with a murmured greeting, then turned to make
his bow to the Prince, who, as firm an admirer as the rest of Society,
had paused to exchange a word before the dance commenced.

Adrien sank on to the velvet lounge beside the Countess.

"Don't scold me, belle amie," he said in his soft tones; "lay the blame
on Mr. Paxhorn. I dined with him at the club. You k