Isabel. "What do you think of us? Is it not a
wonderful scene?"

Gwynne nodded. "All that is wanting is a background of caballeros in the
gallery, silk and ruffles, and hair tied with ribbons. But I suppose the
old gentlemen objected. There must be some limit to Mrs. Hofer's powers
of persuasion. But--yes--it is a wonderful scene, and you are a
wonderful people to take so much trouble."

The waltz finished and Mrs. Hofer bore down upon them. She wore white
brocade, the flowers outlined with jewels, shimmering under a cloud of
tulle, and her neck and her fashionably dressed head were hardly to be
seen for the rubies and diamonds that bound them. She was fairly
palpitating with youth and triumph, and delight in the dance, and
although without beauty or a patrician outline, there was no more
radiant vision in the room. She reproached Isabel for being late,
informed her that she had ordered all the best men to keep dances for
her, summoned several, and then bore off Gwynne to introduce him to the
prettiest of the girls. In a few moments Isabel was engaged for every
dance before supper; she had given the _cotillon_ to Gwynne.

She had realized immediately, that upon such a scene, with such a
background, she could hope to make no such overwhelming impression as
had fallen to the lot of Helena Belmont; surrounded by buff-colored
walls and a small exclusive society--for the most part disdainful of
dress. Nevertheless, she was soon pleasurably aware that she was the
subject of much comment, not only in the gallery, but among the hundreds
of smart young girls and women on the floor, the men that danced, and
those that supported the walls. The old beaux, left over from the days
when Nina Randolph and Guadalupe Hathaway had reigned, who had put the
stamp of an almost incoherent approval upon the dazzling Helena, that
famous night of her debut, were dead and dust; but another group,
including the quartet that had as promptly declared themselves the
suitors and slaves of the exacting beauty, were present to-night,
critically regarding the debutantes. Their comparisons were less
impassioned than those of their old mentors, for they were tired; they
had disposed of much of their superfluous enthusiasm in the increased
difficulties of making an income, since the brief reign of a heartless
witch, whom they still remembered with an occasional pang of sentiment,
but more gratitude that they had not had her as well as fortune to
subdue.