profound conceit and his sensual nature. There was some excuse for him
because the Gods had endowed him with all their charms; he was an
Adonis, Apollo and all the other Greek Gods in one. I don't think I
have ever seen two people so near physical perfection as Nell Wilbur
and Glen Royce. They seemed to be made for each other; every one had
decided that they would surely be married. Young Royce was madly in
love, and though Miss Wilbur lavished her smiles on the young artist,
Will Beuland, no one thought that he had the slightest chance.

Miss Wilbur's aunt invited a party of the young people to Atlantic
City for the Easter holidays, and I was lucky enough to be asked, my
principal pleasure being in watching the ideal young lovers. They were
always perfectly groomed; always stunning; in morning dress, bathing
suits and evening clothes, alike charming. The last evening before our
return I was in the reception room when Nell appeared dressed for
dinner. I watched young Royce when, with all the grace of a prince, he
rose to receive her. She was in rose satin and chiffon, with a cluster
of pink blossoms in her hand, like the herald of spring; so soft and
delicately tinted were her beautifully moulded shoulders that one
could scarcely perceive where the soft clinging chiffon left off. She
was startlingly beautiful, and as I watched the man as he touched her
hand, I could have sworn that all the blood in his veins had turned to
liquid fire.

I made some excuse and left them alone. The balcony was dark and
deserted, and I betook myself to its seclusion. I think the lovers
must have forgotten about the balcony; I am quite sure he had
forgotten everything but the vision before him. He was living in the
world that never was; the sound of flutes was wafted on the breeze
from fairyland. Pulsing bosom and sheen of sun-kissed shoulders....