what she says; but one hates to feel he is a laughing-stock."

The ball-room was brilliant with lights, and music, and flowers, and
diamonds, and beautiful faces, and magnificent toilets when the
Kingsland party entered.

Lady Carteret, in velvet robes, stood receiving her guests. Lady
Louise, with white azaleas in her hair and dress, stood stately and
graceful, looking from tip to toe what she was the descendant of a race
of "highly-wed, highly-fed, highly-bred" aristocrats.

But at neither of them Sir Everard glanced twice. His eyes wandered
around and lighted at last on a divinity in a cloud of misty white,
crowned with dark-green ivy leaves aglitter with diamond drops.

While he gazed, Lord Ernest Strathmore came up, said something, and
whirled her off in the waltz. Away they flew. Lord Ernest waltzed to
perfection, and she--a French woman or a fairy only could float like
that.

A fierce, jealous pang griped his heart; a second, and they were out of
sight. Sir Everard roused himself from his trance and went up to his
hostess to pay his respects.

"Ah!" Lady Carteret said, a little spitefully, "the spell is broken at
last! There was no mistaking that look, Sir Everard! My dear Lady
Kingsland"--laughing, but malicious still--"take care of your son. I'm
afraid he's going to fall in love."