ng the paths of the
prohibited without introspective analysis; but being the intellectual
young man of the latter decades of the 19th century, it amused him
to season his defiance of certain conventional codes with the salt of
philosophy.

Miss Penrhyn reached the Legation a few moments after Dartmouth's
arrival, and he watched her as she entered the ballroom. She wore
a simple white gown, embroidered about the corsage with silver
crescents; and her richly-tinted brown hair was coiled about her head
and held in place by a crescent-shaped comb. She was a tall, slim,
shapely girl, with an extreme grace of carriage and motion, and a neck
and arms whose clear olive was brought out with admirable effect
by the dead white of her gown. Her face, somewhat listless and
preoccupied as she entered, quickly brightened into animation as a
number of men at once surrounded her. Dartmouth continued to watch her
for a few moments, and concluded that he would like to know her, even
if she were a girl and an _ingenue_. She was fascinating, apart from
her beauty; she looked different from other women, and that was
quite enough to command his interest. It would be too much trouble
to struggle for an introduction at present, however, and he allowed
himself to be taken possession of by his cousin, Margaret Talbot,
who, with the easy skill of a spoiled beauty, dismissed several other
cavaliers upon his approach. They wandered about for a time, and
finally entered a tiny boudoir fitted up to represent a bird's nest in
tufted blue satin, with an infinite number of teacups so arranged as
to be cunningly suggestive of eggs whose parents had been addicted to
Decorative Art.

"What do you think of the new beauty?" demanded Mrs. Talbot, as they
established themselves upon an extremely uncomfortable little sofa
upheld between the outstretched wings of the parent bird, which was
much too large for the eggs.

"She does very well," replied Harold, who was wise in his generation.

Mrs. Talbot put her handkerchief suddenly to her face and burst into
tears. Dartmouth turned pale.

"What is it, Margaret?" he said. "Do not cry here; people will notice,
and make remarks."

She made no reply, and he got up and moved restlessly about the room;
then returning he stood looking moodily down upon her.

Some years before, just about the time he was emerging from
knickerbockers, he had been madly in love with this golden-haired,
hazel-eyed cousin of his, and