y shifting colours. The
fantastic crowd that trooped thither from the _salle-a-manger_ was like a
host of tropical flowers. The talking and laughter nearly drowned the
efforts of the string band in the far corner.

Scott in ordinary evening-dress stood near the door talking to an immense
Roman Emperor, looking by contrast even smaller and more insignificant
than usual. Yet a closer observation would have shown that the same
instinctive dignity of bearing characterized them both. Utterly unlike
though they were, yet in this respect it was not difficult to trace their
brotherhood. Though moulded upon lines so completely dissimilar, they
bore the same indelible stamp--the stamp of good birth which can never be
attained by such as have it not. Sir Eustace Studley was the handsomest
man in the room. His imperial costume suited his somewhat arrogant
carriage. He looked like a man born to command. His keen eyes glanced
hither and thither with an eagle-like intensity that missed nothing. He
seemed to be on the watch for someone.

"Who is it?" asked Scott, with a smile. "The lady of the rink?"

The black brows went up haughtily for a moment, then descended in an
answering smile. "She is the only woman I've seen here yet that's worth
looking at," he observed.

"Don't you be too sure of that!" said Scott. "I can show you a little
Italian peasant girl who is well worth your august consideration. I think
you ought to bestow a little favour on her as you have each chosen to
assume the same nationality."

Sir Eustace laughed. "A _protegee_ of yours, eh? That little brown girl,
I suppose? Charming no doubt, my dear fellow; but ordinary--distinctly
ordinary."

"You haven't seen her yet," said Scott. "You had your back to her in the
_salle-a-manger._"

"Where is she then? You had better find her before the beautiful Miss de
Vigne makes her appearance. I don't mind giving her a dance or two, but
you must take her off my hands if we don't get on."

"I will certainly do that," said Scott in his quiet voice that seemed to
veil a touch of irony. "I believe she is in the vestibule now. No, here
she is!"

Dinah, with laughing lips and sparkling eyes, had just ventured to the
door with Billy. "We'll just peep," she said to her brother in the gay
young tones that penetrated so much further than she realized. "But I
shall never dare to dance. Why, I've never even seen the inside of a
ballroom before. And as to dancing with a real live m