d.

When the dancing began, the storm was approaching its culmination.
More vivid than the light from the chandeliers, the electric flashes
dazzled startled eyes with increasing frequency. Miss Wildmere at
first tried to show cool indifference in the spirit of bravado, and
maintained her place upon the floor with Mr. Arnault and a few others.
She soon succumbed, with visible agitation, as a thunderous peal
echoed along the sky. Madge danced on with Graydon as if nothing had
occurred. He only felt that her form grew a little more tense, and saw
that her eyes glowed with suppressed excitement.

"Are you not afraid?" he asked, as soon as his voice could be heard.
"See, the ladies are scattering or huddling together, while many look
as if the world were coming to an end."

"The world is coming to an end to some every day," she replied.

"That remark is as tragic as it is trite, Madge. What could have
suggested it?"

"Trite remarks cannot have serious causes."

"Account for the tragic phase, then."

"I'm in no mood for tragedy, and commonplace does not need
explanation."

"What kind of mood are you in to-night, Madge? You puzzle me;" and he
looked directly into her eyes. At the moment she was facing a window,
and a flash of strange brilliancy made every feature luminous. It
seemed to him that he saw her very soul, the spirit she might become,
for it is hard to imagine existence without form--form that is in
harmony with character. The crash that followed was so terrific that
they paused and stood confronting each other. The music ceased; cries
of terror resounded; but the momentary transfiguration of the girl
before him had been so strange and so impressive that Graydon forgot
all else, and still gazed at her with something like awe in his face.
Her lip trembled, for the nervous tension was growing too severe.
"Why do you look at me so?" she faltered. "What has happened? Is there
danger?"

"What _has_ happened, Madge, that I cannot understand you? The
electric gleam made you look like an angel of light. Your face
seemed light itself. Are you so true and good, Madge, that such vivid
radiance brings out no stain or fear? What is it that makes you unlike
others?" Instinctively he looked toward Miss Wildmere. Her face
was buried in her hands, and Mr. Arnault was bending over her with
reassuring words.

Madge felt her self-control departing. "Mary is afraid in a
thunderstorm," she said, in a low tone. "I'll go to he