tall and severely gowned in some rich, glistening stuff which fell away
sheerly from her splendid bare shoulders. She turned and he found
himself looking into a pair of clear, blue-gray eyes, frank enough and
yet in their very frankness possessing an alluring, indefinable
subtlety. He would not have called her pretty, yet her smile, slight as
it was, was singularly charming, and there radiated from her a
something--personality, perhaps--which held his glance. He bowed low,
and closed the door.

"I am at your service, Madam," he said in a tone of deep respect.
"Please pardon my delay in coming to you."

"It is unfortunate that I didn't write the first note," she apologized
graciously. "It would at least have saved a little time. You have the
card?"

He produced it silently, crest down, and handed it to her. She struck a
match, lighted the card, and it crumbled up in her gloved hand. The last
tiny scrap found refuge in a silver tray, where she watched it burn to
ashes, then she turned to the ambassador with a brilliant smile. He was
still standing.

"The dinner isn't over yet?" she inquired.

"No, Madam, not for another hour, perhaps."

"Then there's no harm done," she went on lightly. "The dinner isn't of
any consequence, but I should like very much to attend the ball
afterward. Can you arrange it for me?"