Archer found Mrs. Welland and her daughter standing
near the ball-room door. Couples were already gliding
over the floor beyond: the light of the wax candles fell
on revolving tulle skirts, on girlish heads wreathed with
modest blossoms, on the dashing aigrettes and ornaments
of the young married women's coiffures, and on
the glitter of highly glazed shirt-fronts and fresh glace
gloves.

Miss Welland, evidently about to join the dancers,
hung on the threshold, her lilies-of-the-valley in her
hand (she carried no other bouquet), her face a little
pale, her eyes burning with a candid excitement. A
group of young men and girls were gathered about her,
and there was much hand-clasping, laughing and pleasantry
on which Mrs. Welland, standing slightly apart,
shed the beam of a qualified approval. It was evident
that Miss Welland was in the act of announcing her
engagement, while her mother affected the air of parental
reluctance considered suitable to the occasion.

Archer paused a moment. It was at his express wish
that the announcement had been made, and yet it was
not thus that he would have wished to have his happiness
known. To proclaim it in the heat and noise of a
crowded ball-room was to rob it of the fine bloom of
privacy which should belong to things nearest the heart.
His joy was so deep that this blurring of the surface left
its essence untouched; but he would have liked to keep
the surface pure too. It was something of a satisfaction