the attitude of the educated
people--who should know better--as callous in the extreme. Of course,
my sister-in-law is one of those active modern women, who always takes
things up, you know--the kind of woman one admires, though one does not
feel, at least I do not feel--but then she has a constitution of iron."

Mrs. Elliot, brought back to the consideration of her own delicacy, here
sighed.

"A very animated face," said Mrs. Thornbury, looking at Evelyn M. who
had stopped near them to pin tight a scarlet flower at her breast. It
would not stay, and, with a spirited gesture of impatience, she thrust
it into her partner's button-hole. He was a tall melancholy youth, who
received the gift as a knight might receive his lady's token.

"Very trying to the eyes," was Mrs. Eliot's next remark, after watching
the yellow whirl in which so few of the whirlers had either name or
character for her, for a few minutes. Bursting out of the crowd, Helen
approached them, and took a vacant chair.

"May I sit by you?" she said, smiling and breathing fast. "I suppose I
ought to be ashamed of myself," she went on, sitting down, "at my age."

Her beauty, now that she was flushed and animated, was more expansive
than usual, and both the ladies felt the same desire to touch her.

"I _am_ enjoying myself," she panted. "Movement--isn't it amazing?"

"I have always heard that nothing comes up to dancing if one is a good
dancer," said Mrs. Thornbury, looking at her with a smile.

Helen swayed slightly as if she sat on wires.

"I could dance for ever!" she said. "They ought to let themselves go
more!" she exclaimed. "They ought to leap and swing. Look! How they
mince!"

"Have you seen those wonderful Russian dancers?" began Mrs. Elliot. But
Helen saw her partner coming and rose as the moon rises. She was half
round the room before they took their eyes off her, for they could not
help admiring her, although they thought it a little odd that a woman of
her age should enjoy dancing.

Directly Helen was left alone for a minute she was joined by St. John
Hirst, who had been watching for an opportunity.

"Should you mind sitting out with me?" he asked. "I'm quite incapable
of dancing." He piloted Helen to a corner which was supplied with two
arm-chairs, and thus enjoyed the advantage of semi-privacy. They sat
down, and for a few minutes Helen was too much under the influence of
dancing to speak.

"Astonishing!" she exclaimed at last. "Wha