mber that he knew he had not planned
futilely. It was like Sylvia to arrive in that fashion--a distracting
element in a settled picture, or as one beyond the general run for whom
a special welcome was a matter of course. To George's ears the orchestra
played louder, as if to call attention to her. To his eyes the dancers
slackened their pace. The chatter certainly diminished, and nearly
everyone glanced toward the door where she stood a little in advance of
her mother and two men.

George was able to judge reasonably. In dress and appearance she was the
most striking woman in the room. Her dark colouring sprang at one,
demanding attention. George saw Dalrymple unevenly force a path in her
direction. He caught his breath. The dance resumed its former rhythm. In
its intricacies Sylvia was for a time lost.

Sometime later Lambert drifted in. George saw him dancing with Betty. He
also found Sylvia. He managed to direct his partner close to her a
number of times. She must have seen him, but her eyes did not waver or
her colour heighten. He wouldn't ask for an introduction. There was no
point. His imagination pictured a number of probable disasters. If he
should ask her to dance would she recognize him, and laugh, and demand,
so that people could hear, how he had forced a way into this place?

George relinquished his partner to a man who cut in. From a harbour
close to the wall he watched Sylvia, willing himself to the point of
action.

"I will make her know me before I leave this dance," he said to himself.

Dalrymple had her now. His weak face was too flushed. He was more than
ever in people's way. George caught the distress in Sylvia's manner. He
remembered Wandel's advice, what Betty had asked him to do for her. He
dodged, without further reflection, across the floor, and held out his
hand.

"If I may----"

Without looking at him she accepted his hand, and they glided off, while
Dalrymple stared angrily. George scarcely noticed. There was room in his
mind for no more than this amazing and intoxicating experience. She was
so close that he could have bent his head and placed his lips on her
dark hair--closer than she had been that unforgettable day. The
experience was worthless unless she knew who he was.

"She must know," he thought.

If she did, why did she hide her knowledge behind an unfathomable
masquerade?

"That was kind of you," he heard her say. "Poor Dolly!"

She glanced up. Interrogation entered her