rstwhile Indian wife had she been
there to see it. Here and there, scattered about the floor, there might
have been seen many of the public figures of America at that time, men
from North and South and East and West, and from many other nations
beside our own.

Under Mrs. Polk's social administration, we did not waltz, but our ball
began with a stately march, really a grand procession, in its way
distinctly interesting, in scarlet and gold and blue and silks, and all
the flowered circumstance of brocades and laces of our ladies. And after
our march we had our own polite Virginia reel, merry as any dance, yet
stately too.

I was late in arriving that night, for it must be remembered that this
was but my second day in town, and I had had small chance to take my
chief's advice, and to make myself presentable for an occasion such as
this. I was fresh from my tailor, and very new-made when I entered the
room. I came just in time to see what I was glad to see; that is to say,
the keeping of John Calhoun's promise to Helena von Ritz.

It was not to be denied that there had been talk regarding this lady,
and that Calhoun knew it, though not from me. Much of it was idle talk,
based largely upon her mysterious life. Beyond that, a woman beautiful
as she has many enemies among her sex. There were dark glances for her
that night, I do not deny, before Mr. Calhoun changed them. For, however
John Calhoun was rated by his enemies, the worst of these knew well his
austerely spotless private life, and his scrupulous concern for decorum.

Beautiful she surely was. Her ball gown was of light golden stuff, and
there was a coral wreath upon her hair, and her dancing slippers were of
coral hue. There was no more striking figure upon the floor than she.
Jewels blazed at her throat and caught here and there the filmy folds of
her gown. She was radiant, beautiful, apparently happy. She came
mysteriously enough; but I knew that Mr. Calhoun's carriage had been
sent for her. I learned also that he had waited for her arrival.

As I first saw Helena von Ritz, there stood by her side Doctor Samuel
Ward, his square and stocky figure not undignified in his dancing dress,
the stiff gray mane of his hair waggling after its custom as he spoke
emphatically over something with her. A gruff man, Doctor Ward, but
under his gray mane there was a clear brain, and in his broad breast
there beat a large and kindly heart.

Even as I began to edge my way towa