lia assented, suddenly feeling that
this careless talk, in this bright, hot room, was not fair to the little
one she already loved so dearly.

"Is that Mrs. Brock or Vera?" Mrs. Thayer asked. "I declare they look
alike!"

"That's Alice," Ella answered, after a glance, "don't you know that blue
silk? They've got the Hazzards with them."

"Gets worse every year, absolutely," the old lady declared, "doesn't it,
Ella? Emily here?"

"No, she's wretched, poor kid. But Ken's here somewhere. There are the
Geralds," Miss Saunders added, leaning toward the old woman and sinking
her tone to a low murmur. "Have you heard about Mason Gerald and Paula
Billings--oh, _haven't_ you? Not about the car breaking down--_haven't_
you? Well, my _dear_--"

Julia lost the story, and sat watching the room, a vague little smile
curving her lips, her blue eyes moving idly to and fro. She saw Mrs.
Toland come in with her two lovely daughters. Julia had had tea with
them that afternoon at the hotel, where they would spend the night. The
orchestra was silent just now, and the dancers were drifting about the
room, a great brilliant circle. Some of the men were clapping their
hands, all of them were laughing as they bent their sleek heads toward
their partners, and all the girls were laughing, too, and talking
animatedly as they raised wide-open eyes. Julia admired the gowns:
shining pink and cloudy pink, blue with lace and blue with spangles,
white alone, and white with every colour in the world; a yellow and
black gown that was indescribably dashing, and a yellow and black gown
that somehow looked very flat and dowdy. She noticed the Ripley pearls
on Miss Dolly Ripley's scrawny little lean neck, and that charming
Isabel Wallace danced a good deal with her own handsome, shy young
brothers, and seemed eager that they should enjoy what was evidently
their first Browning. She studied the old faces, the hard faces, the
faded faces, the painted cheeks and powdered necks; she read the tragedy
behind the drooping head of some debutante, the triumph in the high
laugh of another. There was poor Connie Fox, desperately eager and
amiable, dancing with the youngest men and the oldest men, glittering
and jolly in her dingy blue silk; and Connie's mother, who was her
chaperon, a little fluttering fool of a woman, nervously eager to
ingratiate, and nervously afraid to intrude her company upon these
demi-gods and goddesses; and Theodora Carleton, handsome in to