wo and look over the scene. It was easy to
do this, for the outer rim of the circle, that which came beneath the
colonnade, was raised by two steps above the space reserved for dancing.
The _coup d'[oe]il_ was therefore extensive.

A mass of color, pleasing and confused, revolved languorously to those
strains of the Viennese operetta in which the waltz might be said to
have finished the autocracy of its long reign. The rhythm of the dancers
was as regular and gentle as the breathing of a child. In glide and
turn, in balance and smoothness, in that lift which was scarcely motion,
there was the suggestion of frenzy restrained, of passion lulled, which
emanates from the barely perceptible heave of a slumbering summer sea.
It was dreamy to a charm; it was graceful to the point at which the eye
begins to sicken of gracefulness; it was monotonous with the force of a
necromantic spell. It was soothing; it also threw a hint of melancholy
into a gathering intended to be gay. It was as though all that was most
sentimentally lovely in the essence of the nineteenth century had
concentrated its strength to subdue the daring spirit of the twentieth,
winning a decade of success. Now, however, that the decade was past,
there were indications of revolt. On the arc of the circle most remote
from the eye of the hostess audacious couples were giving way to bizarre
little dips and kicks and attitudes, named by outlandish names,
inaugurating a new freedom.

Claude stood alone beneath one of the wide, delicate floral arches--a
spectator who was not afraid of being observed. In reality he was noting
to himself the degree to which he had passed beyond the merely
pleasure-seeking impulse. In Rosie and Rosie's cares he had come to
realities. He was rather proud of it. With regard to the young men and
young women swirling in this variegated whirlpool, as well as to those
who, wearied with the dance, were sitting or reclining on the steps,
where rugs and cushions had been thrown for their convenience, he felt a
distinct superiority. They were still in the childish stage, while he
was grown to be a man. To the pretty girls, with their Parisian frocks
and their relatively idle lives, Rosie, with her power of tackling
actualities, was as a human being to a race of marionettes. It would be
necessary for him, in deference to his hosts, to step down among them in
a minute or two and twirl in their company; but he would do it with a
certain pity for thos