ed, in a rich, Irish brogue
that Lady Blythebury smiled to hear. For she also was Irish to the
backbone.

"You know something of the art yourself, Captain Sullivan?" she asked.

She knew the man for a friend of her husband's. He was more or less
disreputable, she believed, but he was none the less welcome on that
account. It was just such men as he who knew how to make things a
success. She relied upon the disreputable more than she would have
admitted.

"Egad, I'm no novice in most things!" declared the court jester, waving
his wand bombastically. "But it's the magic of a pretty woman that I'm
after at the present moment. These masks, Lady Blythebury, are uncommon
inconvenient. It's yourself that knows better than to wear one. Sure,
beauty should never go veiled."

Lady Blythebury laughed indulgently. Though she knew it for what it was,
the fellow's blarney was good to hear.

"Ah, go and dance!" she said. "I've heard all that before. It never
means anything. Go and dance with the little lady over there in the pink
domino! I give you my word that she is pretty. Her name is Una, but she
is minus the lion on this occasion. I shall tell you no more than that."

"Egad! It's more than enough!" said the court jester, as he bowed and
moved away.

The lady indicated stood alone in the curtained embrasure of a
bay-window. She was watching the dancers with an absorbed air, and did
not notice his approach.

He drew near, walking with a free swagger in time to the haunting
waltz-music. Reaching her, he stopped and executed a sweeping bow, his
hand upon his heart.

"May I have the pleasure--"

She looked up with a start. Her eyes shone through her mask with a
momentary irresolution as she bent in response to his bow.

With scarcely a pause he offered her his arm.

"You dance the waltz?"

She hesitated for a second; then, with an affirmatory murmur, accepted
the proffered arm. The bold stare with which he met her look had in it
something of compulsion.

He led her instantly away from her retreat, and in a moment his hand was
upon her waist. He guided her into the gay stream of dancers without a
word.

They began to waltz--a dream--waltz in which she seemed to float without
effort, without conscious volition. Instinctively she responded to his
touch, keenly, vibrantly aware of the arm that supported her, of the
dark, free eyes that persistently sought her own.

"Faith!" he suddenly said in his soft, Irish voice.