them seats, and all
insisted upon being in the front row; as there were some eighty couples
to dance, and only forty could sit in front, this, to an intelligent
mind, would seem an impossible proposition; but not a single one of
those one hundred and sixty people seemed to understand it. Finally poor
Sedger conceived the brilliant idea of starting the music, and the
people who were squabbling over places, fearing they might be left out
altogether, scrambled recklessly after seats, and thus the floor was
cleared. Sedger was now master of the situation, and soon he was leading
a troup of sprawling men through a maze of pretty gowns, in the
performance of the intricate evolutions of a cotillon figure.

Duncan, instead of favoring someone, had persuaded Marion to dance the
figure through with him. The band played a fantastic polka, and,
catching the exciting inspiration of the Hungarian strains, they glided
fleetly over the slippery floor. It was no longer the dreamy waltz, but
the wild abandon of rapid motion, and as they danced Marion seemed
carried away by the exhilarating movement. On, on, they danced, until
the music stopped; then Duncan led her quickly out of the ball-room to
the nook under the musicians' gallery, where, breathless from the
exercise, she sank down on the divan. Duncan, seating himself beside
her, rested his arm upon one of the cushions, and leaned forward so that
he could see her face. Her cheeks glowed from the exercise, and there,
in the soft light, her large black eyes glistening with excitement, she
seemed to Duncan the most glorious creature he had ever seen. Delighted
he gazed until Marion raised her eyes and met his eager glance.

"Why did you bring me here?" she asked.

"To say good-by."

"What do you mean?" she said, with a frightened tone in her voice.

"I mean that I leave to-morrow. I have been called back to the East."

"Are you glad?" she asked sadly.

"Yes, I am glad," he replied softly; "glad to have known you, glad to
feel that you exist."

Wild thoughts flashed impetuously through her mind. "Why?" she asked.

He leaned forward till his face was near hers, and she could see his
grey eyes, now black in the dim light, almost next her own. He took her
hand and held it; then he whispered passionately: "Because I love you."

"For the sake of both of us, don't say that," she said hoarsely, drawing
back her hand.

"For the sake of both of us I will," he replied. "What is there t