tall and angular, the short, stout man rotated fiercely. From time to
time they stopped, to allow him to wipe his face.

Maurice contemplated escaping from the hall to some quiet room beyond.
But as he was edging forward, he ran into Dove's arms, and that was the
end of it. Dove, it seemed, had had his eye on him. The originator of
the ball confessed that he was not having a particularly good time; he
had everything to superintend--the dances, the musicians, the
arrangements for supper. Besides this, there were at least a dozen too
many ladies present; he believed some of the men had simply given their
tickets away to girl-friends, and had let them come alone. So far, Dove
had been forced to sacrifice himself entirely, and he was hot and
impatient.

"Besides, I've routed half a dozen men out of the billiardroom, more
than once," he complained irrelevantly, wiping the moisture from his
brow. "But it's of no----Now just look at that!" he interrupted
himself. "The 'cellist has had too much to drink already, and they're
handing him more beer. Another glass, and he won't be able to play at
all.--I say, you're not dancing. My dear fellow, it really won't do.
You must help me with some of these women."

Taking Maurice by the arm, he steered him to a corner of the hall where
sat two little provincial English sisters, looking hopeless and
forlorn. Who had invited them, it was impossible to say; but no one
wished to dance with them. They were dressed exactly alike, were alike
in face, too--as like as two nuts, thought Maurice, as he bowed to
them. Their hair was of a nutty brown, their eyes were brown, and they
wore brown dresses. He led them out to dance, one after the other, and
they were overwhelmingly grateful to him. He could hardly tell them
apart; but that did not matter; for, when he took one back to her seat,
the other sat waiting for her turn.

In dancing, he was thrown together with more of his friends, and he was
not slow to catch the looks--cynical, contemptuous, amused--that were
directed at him. Some were disposed to wink, and to call him a sly dog;
others found food for malicious gossip in the way Louise had deserted
him; and, when he met Miss Martin in a quadrille, she snubbed his
advances with a definiteness that left no room for doubt.

Round dances succeeded to square dances; the musicians' playing grew
more mechanical; flowers drooped, and dresses were crushed. An
Englishman or two ran about complainin