of love in her that her whole
soul shall be absorbed in his. Down in this shady corner, while the
other couples are quite at the other end, he raises the sweet face,
tranced in the beguiling melody of movement, and kisses the lips with
all a man's passionate fervor, holds her in such a clasp that she
struggles and throws out one hand wildly, as if suddenly stricken
blind, and a frightened expression drowns the sweet delight.

"Oh!" and she gives a little cry of pain and mystery.

"My darling!"

The voice is tenderly reassuring, and they float on again, but for a
brief moment the lightness seems gone out of her feet. He draws a long,
deep inspiration. Sweet, tender, and devoted as she is, it is not her
time to love, and he remembers all the years between them. She is as
innocent of the deeper depths of passion as Cecil.

There is a long, long throb on the air, almost a wail of regret, from
the human voices of the violins. The cornet seems to run off in the
distance, and the horns have a sob in their last notes. The dancers
stop with languid reluctance. Floyd Grandon leads his wife along as if
he would take her down the steps, away somewhere.

"Let us sit here," she cries, suddenly, and there is a curious strain
in her voice, a thrill as of fear. Does she not dare trust herself with
him anywhere, everywhere?

"Are you tired?" he asks, with a tenderness that touches her.

She still seems like one in a dream.

"No," she answers. "It was enchanting. I could dance forever. I don't
know----"

Her voice falters and drops as the last notes of the music have done.
It would be a mortal sin to awaken her. She shall dream on until the
right time comes.

"Then you liked it?" His voice has a steady, reassuring tone. "There is
another; shall we try it again, presently?"

This time it is the "Beautiful Blue Danube."

"Oh, no, no!" she says, vehemently.

The strains begin to float and throb again, light, airy, delicate, with
one pathetic measure that always touches the soul. She rouses and
listens, then the little hand creeps into his beseechingly.

"Oh," she says, "may I take that back! I think I was beside myself.
Will you waltz with me again?"

It is an exquisite waltz, pure, dreamy pleasure, delicious to the last
bar, and nothing has startled her. He watches her lovely flower-like
face that is full of supreme content.

"Now," he says, after she has rested awhile, "we must look after our
guests. Let us take a stro