lace. Diamonds were in her wonderfully waved hair and round her fair
white neck. They clasped her belt and adorned the instep of her little
amber silk slippers. She held a yellow rose in her hand, and yellow
rosebuds lay among the lace at her bosom, and Mostyn, stupefied by her
undreamed-of loveliness, saw golden emanations from the clear pallor of
her face. He felt for a moment or two as if he should certainly faint;
only by a miracle of stubborn will did he drag his consciousness from
that golden-tinted, sparkling haze of beauty which had smitten him like
an enchantment. Then the girl was looking at him with her soft, dark,
gazelle eyes; she was even speaking to him, but what she said, or what
reply he made, he could never by any means remember. Miss Bayard was
to be his companion, and with some effort and a few indistinct words he
gave her his arm. She asked if he was ill, and when a shake of the head
answered the query, she covered the few minutes of his disconcertion
with her conversation. He looked at her gratefully and gathered his
personality together. For Love had come to him like a two-edged sword,
dividing the flesh and the spirit, and he longed to cry aloud and
relieve the sweet torture of the possession.

Reaction, however, came quickly, and with it a wonderful access of
all his powers. The sweet, strong wine of Love went to his brain like
celestial nectar. All the witty, amusing things he had ever heard came
trooping into his memory, and the dinner was long delayed by his fine
humor, his pleasant anecdotes, and the laughing thoughts which others
caught up and illustrated in their own way.

It was a feast full of good things, but its spirit was not able to bear
transition. The company scattered quickly when it was over to the opera
or theater or to the rest of a quiet evening at home, for at the end
enthusiasm of any kind has a chilling effect on the feelings. None
of the party understood this result, and yet all were, in their way,
affected by the sudden fall of mental temperature. Mr. Denning went
to his library and took out his private ledger, a penitential sort of
reading which he relished after moods of any kind of enjoyment. Mrs.
Denning selected Ethel Rawdon for her text of disillusion. She "thought
Ethel had been a little jealous of Dora's dress," and Dora said, "It was
one of her surprises, and Ethel thought she ought to know everything."
"You are too obedient to Ethel," continued Mrs. Denning and