s, and the abundant laughter that was
seemingly used to hide the emotions that oppressed the speakers. Finally
they sat down quite close to, but hidden from, Alice and Harding by a
screen, and through the paper even their breathing was audible. All the
dancers were gone; there was scarcely a white skirt or black coat in the
pale blueness of the room. Evidently the lovers thought they were well
out of reach of eavesdroppers. Alice felt this, but before she could
rise to go Fred Scully had said--

'Now, May, I hope you won't refuse to let me come and see you in your
room to-night. It would be too cruel if you did. I'll steal along the
passage; no one will hear, no one will ever know, and I'll be so very
good. I promise you I will.'

'Oh, Fred, I'm afraid I can't trust you; it would be so very wicked.'

'Nothing is wicked when we really love; besides, I only want to talk to
you.'

'You can talk to me here.'

'Yes, but it isn't the same thing; anyone can talk to you here. I want
to show you a little poem I cut out of a newspaper to-day for you. I'll
steal along the passage--no one will ever know.'

'You'll promise to be very good, and you won't stop more than five
minutes.'

The words were spoken in low, soft tones, exquisitely expressive of the
overthrow of reason and the merging of all the senses in the sweet
abandonment of passion.

Alice sat unable to move, till at last, awakening with a pained look in
her grey eyes, she touched Harding's hand with hers, and, laying her
finger on her lips, she arose. Their footfalls made no sound on the
deep, soft carpet.

'This is very terrible,' she murmured, half to herself.

Harding had too much tact to answer; and, taking advantage of the
appearance of Violet Scully, who came walking gaily down the room on the
Marquis's arm, he said:

'Your friend Miss Scully seems to be in high spirits.'

Violet exchanged smiles with Alice as she passed. The smile was one of
triumph. She had waltzed three times with the Marquis, and was now going
to sit out a set of quadrilles.

'What a beautiful waltz the _Blue Danube_ is!' she said, leading her
admirer to where the blue fans were numerous. Upon the glistening piano
stood a pot filled with white azaleas; and, in the pauses of the
conversation, one heard the glass of the chandeliers tinkling gently to
the vibration of the music.

'It is a beautiful waltz when I am dancing it with you.'

'I am sure you say that to every girl you