to him, and he answered briefly without even looking at her. By
and by she spoke again, more energetically; he then slowly arose,
approached a young woman sitting near, who in response to something
he said sprang up with alacrity, and they glided away in the waltz
with an ease and grace scarcely equalled by the others upon the
floor. After a few moments they circled around very near Roger's
post of observation, and he was able to scan both the features and
expression of the man whom he felt inclined to hate. But he was
disarmed and perplexed, for the stranger showed no more pleasure or
animation than would a fallen leaf that was swept here and there
by varying eddies of wind. He kept time and step with perfect
accuracy, but evidently from such complete familiarity with the
form that he gave it not a thought. He danced as easily as a bird
flies, avoiding the others without appearing to notice them. No
color came from the exercise, no light kindled in his face. His
expression was not blase or cynical, but weary and dejected; the
melancholy in his large brown eyes was all the more striking from
contrast with the music, the lighted room, and an amusement suggesting
gayety. Pale, utterly unresponsive to the brilliant and mirthful
scenes, he glided ghost-like here and there, and before very long
seated his companion by the elderly woman whose urgency had led to
his automaton-like performance. Then with a slight bow he passed
through a window near and disappeared. The two lades spoke together
for a few moments and seemed annoyed, and Roger now noted such a
resemblance between them as to suggest that they were mother and
daughter.

He had seen sufficient to satisfy him, and he went away muttering,
"There isn't enough of him to hate; he's but the shadow of a man.
She fancy him! I couldn't have believed it; I can't account for it,