And at the same instant he saw the girl of whom he had been thinking.

She was on the edge of a group of half a dozen or more men in evening
dress, and women in filmy white--already close to him--so near that the
frail stuff of her skirt brushed him, and the subtle, fresh aroma of her
seemed to touch his cheek like a breath as she passed.

"Calypso," he whispered, scarcely conscious that he spoke aloud.

A swift turn of her head, eyes that looked blankly into his, and she had
passed.

A sudden realisation of his bad manners left his ears tingling. What on
earth had prompted him to speak? What momentary relaxation had permitted
him an affront to a young girl whose attitude toward him that morning
had been so admirable?

Chagrined, he turned back to seek some circling path through the dense
crowd ahead; and was aware, in the darkness, of a shadowy figure
entering the jasmine arbour. And though his eyes were still confused by
the lantern light he knew her again in the dusk.

As they passed she said under her breath: "That was ill-bred. I am
disappointed."

He wheeled in his tracks; she turned to confront him for an instant.

"I'm just a plain beast," he said. "You won't forgive me of course."