dance,
looking handsome and distinguished in full evening kit, with medals and
orders in miniature glinting on his left lapel and a jewelled
decoration on his breast. He recognised her instantly, and made his
way masterfully through the crowd that surrounded her at the first
interval.

"I shall have the pleasure of the next dance with you, Miss Rostrevor?"
he said, and it struck Myra that his words were more by way of being an
assertion than a question or a request.

"Indeed, senor, and you won't," she retorted in her soft Irish voice.
"I'm dancing the next with my fiance, Mr. Tony Standish. Here he is
coming now... Tony, my dear, this is Don Carlos de Ruiz, who plays
polo like an angel."

"Didn't know that angels played polo, but I'm pleased to meet you, Don
Carlos," drawled Standish. "Frightful crush, isn't it?"

"Miss Rostrevor was going to dance the next number with me, Mr.
Standish, but suddenly remembered she had promised to dance with you,"
said Don Carlos, with smiling sang-froid, as he shook hands. "If you
would be so good as to resign your right in my favour--"

He paused with a questioning glance at Tony, who looked a trifle
bewildered.

"Why--er--of course, if Miss Rostrevor so wishes," Tony said, just as
the band struck up; and before Myra quite realised what was happening
she found herself gliding round the room in the arms of Don Carlos.

"You certainly are not lacking in nerve, senor, and you apparently have
no regard for the truth," she commented, recovering from her
astonishment. "I never said I was going to dance with you."

"Sweet lady, I would perjure my soul for the privilege and pleasure of
dancing with you," Don Carlos responded, smiling down into her blue
eyes. "It is an honour and a delight to have for partner the most
beautiful and charming girl in England. You dance divinely, senorita,
and are light as thistledown in my arms. My soul is enchanted,
enraptured!"

"Away with your blarney!" exclaimed Myra, half-laughingly,
half-impatiently, but conscious of a queer little thrill as she met his
smiling glance. "Do you pay every woman you meet such fulsome and
extravagant compliments, senor?"

"No, senorita, I am a connoisseur," answered Don Carlos, his tone quite
serious but his black eyes twinkling. "And no compliment could be
extravagant if applied to you, dear lady. One would have to be a great
poet to find words to do justice to your beauty and charm."

He had a dee