masks, which was rather a pity, as their dull, ordinary faces
halted abruptly the play of fancy. On second thoughts he was glad such
revelers were allowed upon the floor, since as the scene gradually began
to affect him he felt it might be amusing for himself to dance once or
twice before the evening ended. With this notion in view, he began to
follow more particularly the progress of different girls, balancing
their charms one against another, and always deriving a good deal of
pleasure from the reflection that, while at this moment they did not
know of his existence, in an hour's time he might have entered their
lives. This thought did give a romantic zest to an entertainment which
would otherwise have been quite cut off from his appreciation.

Suddenly Michael's heart began to quicken: the blood came in rushes and
swift recessions that made him feel cold and sick. Two girls walking
away from him along the side of the hall--those two pierrettes in
black--that one with the pale blue pompons was Lily! Why didn't she turn
round? It must be Lily. The figure, the walk, the hair were hers. The
pierrettes turned, but as they were masked Michael could still not be
sure if one were Lily. They were dancing together now. It must be Lily.
He leaned over the rail of the gallery to watch them sweep round below
him, so that he might listen if by chance above the noise Lily's
languorous voice could reach him. Michael became almost positive that it
was she. There could not be another girl to seem so like her. He hurried
down from the gallery and stood in the entrance to the ball-room. Where
were they now? They were coming toward him: the other pierrette with
the rose pompons said something as they passed. It could only be Lily
who bowed her head like that in lazy assent. It was Lily! Should he call
out to her, when next they passed him? If it were not Lily, what a fool
he would look. If it were not Lily, it would not matter what he looked,
for the disappointment would outweigh everything else. They were going
up the room again. They were turning the corner again. They were
sweeping toward him again. They were passing him again. He called "Lily!
Lily!" in a voice sharp with eagerness. Neither girl gave a sign of
attention. It was not she, after all. Yet his voice might have been
drowned in the noise of the dance. He would call again; but again they
passed him by unheeding. The dance was over. They had stopped at the
other end of the roo