housand dollars should stand in
the way of perfect bliss!"

CHAPTER VIII

So many forces had been enlisted, into so many hands the white card
given, to make Mrs. Hawthorne's ball a success, that it could hardly
fail to be somewhat splendid. On a platform raised in one corner of the
ball-room sat the little orchestra assembled and conducted by Signor
Ceccherelli, who, from his mien, might have been the creator of these
musicians and originator of all music.

Charlie Hunt was floor-master, and busy enough. Another might perhaps
have done as much and not appeared so busy. The cotillion especially
gave him a great deal to do. Everybody understood that he had planned
all the figures and bought the favors. Some received an impression that
the ball was entirely managed by him, who was such a very great friend
of the hostess's. Some even carried home an idea that the hostess never
did anything without consulting him, and more often than not besought
him to do it for her.

This sounds cruder than it actually was. Charlie was looking most
handsome and high-bred. Animation shone from his eyes, his teeth, his
skin, over which he now and then swept a fine white silk handkerchief.
He danced devotedly every minute during which he was not engaged in
making others dance. Mrs. Hawthorne, gazing after him with a benignant
smile, was truly grateful to him for putting into her party so much
"go." It was his atmosphere rather than his words--though he did drop
words, but not many or really in bad taste--that made him appear the one
indispensable person in the house.

Mrs. Foss stood near the central door with Mrs. Hawthorne, receiving.
She had not omitted from her list one acquaintance in Florence of the
suitable class. Everybody was there; the style of invitation-card sent
had suggested a grand occasion.

All the persons she had seen at the Fosses on the first Friday evening
at their house Mrs. Hawthorne saw again, and many more. Balm de Breze,
with a gallantry of old style, bent his black-lacquer mustache over her
glove. The dark Landini pressed her hand with a pinch the warmth of
which pricked her attention, and she found his eyes fixed on her with
more the air of seeing her than is common at a first meeting.

Suddenly her heart thumped like a school-girl's. Gerald was coming, and
with him an officer who must surely be Manlio. She tried to keep down
her emotion, but the pink of her face deepened, a trembling seized her
sm