searching narrowly the
shifting groupings of the animated scene disclosed by the wide
reception-hall. She was looking for Queen Elizabeth's imperious ruff,
anxious to find and keep in the shadow of that great lady's sovereign
presence; and she was also looking for the leather-banded sombrero of
the cowboy and the skull-cap of Harlequin, with a concern keen to
avoid those gentlemen.

Considerably to her surprise, still more to her disappointment, not
even the first of these was in evidence (as Sally had made sure Mrs.
Gosnold would be) waiting to welcome her guests just within the
doorway to the porte-cochere.

None the less, the lady must be found, and that without delay; the
envelope, with its blank enclosure half crushed in Sally's hand, was
an ever-present reminder of her duty first to herself, secondly to her
employer. If she had written nothing, and but for Mrs. Standish would
have kept her counsel till the last minute, the latter's threat of
denunciation had lent the temper of the girl another complexion
altogether; as Sally saw it, she no longer had any choice other than
to find Mrs. Gosnold as quickly as possible and make complete the
revelation of last night's doings. And her mind was fixed to this,
with a cast of angry pertinacity that would prove far from easy to
oppose or even to modify; whether or not the hostess wished it, she
must suffer herself to be informed immediately and completely.

Threading a swift way in and out among the masks clustered upon the
broad staircase in groups of twos and threes, laughing, chattering and
watching the restless play of life and colour in the hall, she gained
the floor and then the letter-box, near the door where she had thought
to find her employer.

A distrustful scrutiny of the near-by masks failed to single out one
of those she had marked and memorised in the boudoir, and without
detecting any overt interest in her actions, she slipped her blameless
message into the box, then turned back and, steadfast to her purpose,
made her way forward through the throng to the veranda.

After the glare of the hall the dusk of the veranda was as grateful as
its coolth and spaciousness. Beyond the rail the purple-and-silver
night pressed close and beckoned; its breath was sweet, its pulses
throbbed with the rhythmic passion of violins that sobbed and sang in
hiding somewhere in the shadows. Up and down that broad, smooth
flooring gay couples swayed, eye to eye and breast to