"I had not noticed it," was the answer spoken equivocally.

The supper was somehow worried through. As they were leaving the table Walter Sedger said: "I have saved the seats of head couple for you, Mrs.

Sanderson; if you will come with me, I will show them to you. I lead alone, but I hope you will permit me to take you out for an occasional extra turn."

"I shall be delighted," Marion replied. Sedger gave her his arm, and Duncan, glowering more than ever, was obliged to wander on behind.

The musicians' gallery did not project into the ball-room, but was supported by columns in the hall outside. Just under it an attractive nook had been arranged, with palms and foliage plants, a rug and a divan. The lights were kept low and the palms were so thickly placed as almost to conceal the people who might chance to sit there. At each side of this recess was a door leading into the ball-room, and as Marion and her two companions were pa.s.sing through the one at the right, they met Florence Moreland and Roswell Sanderson coming out.

"I am looking for my fan, Mr. Grahame," said Florence, stopping. "Don't you want to help me search for it?"

"Of course I do, and I'll wager I find it," said Duncan, walking directly toward the nook just described.

"You need not express your disapproval of me so pointedly," called Florence, protestingly. "I a.s.sure you it is not in here," she continued, following him until they were both concealed by the palms.

"A thousand pardons for my blunder," replied Duncan. "I thought I saw you coming out of here after one of the dances with Dr. Maccanfrae."

"I see I must confess my guilt," answered Florence, smiling; "but I relied on the protection of his grey hairs."

"I gather you don't approve of this corner," replied Duncan. "At least,"

he continued, looking around, "you were not so indiscreet as to leave your fan here."

"I suppose the place has its uses," she answered laughingly, "at least the managers think so, if one is to judge by the care bestowed on its arrangement."

"If I were bold," Duncan said, as they pa.s.sed out, "I would say that it is like a fire escape, only to be used on pressing occasions."

Florence frowned at this atrocious punning, and he added, meekly: "May I have permission to admire your gown?"

"I am surprised that you like it," she replied. "This is its second season."

"I think it is charming," he continued. "But might I inquire if it is ardent affection for each other which prompts you and Mrs. Sanderson to select the same color to-night?"

"It was not a case of affection, but quite an accident," Florence replied. "In fact, when Marion saw me coming down-stairs arrayed so like herself, she wanted to make me change my gown, but it was so late that I refused."

They reached the ball-room door, and there they met Roswell Sanderson with the lost fan, which he had found in the supper-room. Duncan left Florence with Marion's husband and went in search of his partner. He found Marion already in her place for the cotillon and took his seat beside her. A double row of chairs had been arranged around the room, and poor Walter Sedger was flying about trying to make people take their places, so that he might commence his first figure. The one occasion when all intelligence seems to desert the average mortal,--especially if he be a man,--is when he is called upon to dance in a cotillon, and already the leader's difficulties had commenced. When Sedger had succeeded in seating a group in one place, he would turn around and find that people whom he had fairly implored to take their places were wandering across the room, or that others, who were seated in the back row, were having angry controversies with people who had placed their chairs in front of them. All expected Sedger to find them seats, and all insisted upon being in the front row; as there were some eighty couples to dance, and only forty could sit in front, this, to an intelligent mind, would seem an impossible proposition; but not a single one of those one hundred and sixty people seemed to understand it. Finally poor Sedger conceived the brilliant idea of starting the music, and the people who were squabbling over places, fearing they might be left out altogether, scrambled recklessly after seats, and thus the floor was cleared. Sedger was now master of the situation, and soon he was leading a troup of sprawling men through a maze of pretty gowns, in the performance of the intricate evolutions of a cotillon figure.

Duncan, instead of favoring someone, had persuaded Marion to dance the figure through with him. The band played a fantastic polka, and, catching the exciting inspiration of the Hungarian strains, they glided fleetly over the slippery floor. It was no longer the dreamy waltz, but the wild abandon of rapid motion, and as they danced Marion seemed carried away by the exhilarating movement. On, on, they danced, until the music stopped; then Duncan led her quickly out of the ball-room to the nook under the musicians' gallery, where, breathless from the exercise, she sank down on the divan. Duncan, seating himself beside her, rested his arm upon one of the cushions, and leaned forward so that he could see her face. Her cheeks glowed from the exercise, and there, in the soft light, her large black eyes glistening with excitement, she seemed to Duncan the most glorious creature he had ever seen. Delighted he gazed until Marion raised her eyes and met his eager glance.

"Why did you bring me here?" she asked.

"To say good-by."

"What do you mean?" she said, with a frightened tone in her voice.

"I mean that I leave to-morrow. I have been called back to the East."

"Are you glad?" she asked sadly.

"Yes, I am glad," he replied softly; "glad to have known you, glad to feel that you exist."

Wild thoughts flashed impetuously through her mind. "Why?" she asked.

He leaned forward till his face was near hers, and she could see his grey eyes, now black in the dim light, almost next her own. He took her hand and held it; then he whispered pa.s.sionately: "Because I love you."

"For the sake of both of us, don't say that," she said hoa.r.s.ely, drawing back her hand.

"For the sake of both of us I will," he replied. "What is there to prevent our loving?"

"My husband," she said, and the words brought back fear to her heart.

"I thought you were a woman of the world," he replied scornfully. "Do you mean to tell me that you are afraid?"

"Yes," said Marion resolutely.

"Then you must drown your fear in love," he answered, drawing his arm about her shoulders.

"You must leave me," she pleaded, trying to release herself.

"Not until you say you love me," was his answer.

"That I do not hate you ought to tell you that; O, I can't say any more.

Leave me, I entreat you."

"I will not leave you, my Marion," he replied impetuously. "I must have your love." And he leaned forward and kissed her. A dress rustled behind the palms. Duncan heard it and quickly released Marion, who darted away and ran toward the ball-room; and Duncan, glancing anxiously through the foliage, saw a crimson gown hurrying through the other door. "Confound my luck!" he muttered. "I thought I knew something about this sort of thing, but I was a fool to take such chances."

Inside the ball-room Marion found her husband, standing among a group of men, watching the dancing. "I am going home, Roswell," she said, taking his arm and drawing him away. "Find Florence, won't you?"

"Yes, dear," he replied. "Are you ill?" he added, thinking it unusual for his wife to leave so early.

"I feel tired, that is all. Tell Florence she can go home with Mrs.

Smythe if she chooses."

Roswell Sanderson went in search of Florence and soon returned with her.

He had given her Marion's message, but Florence did not care to remain, so she excused herself to her partner in the cotillon and hurried away with Roswell. "What is the matter?" she anxiously asked Marion.

"I feel a little faint and I think I will go home," was the answer.

Florence thought Marion seemed agitated rather than faint. She wondered what had happened, but thinking it unwise to pursue the matter further, she walked on quietly beside Marion and her husband. On the stairs they met Duncan; Marion tried to avoid him, but he came toward her and said calmly: "I have been looking everywhere for you, Mrs. Sanderson. Have you forgotten you have a partner in the cotillon?"

"No;" Marion replied. "But you must excuse me as I feel quite tired; I am going home."

"I feel cheated," answered Duncan; "the more so as I leave to-morrow and must say good-by, now." He put out his hand and Marion took it. She tried not to look at him, but an indefinable attraction compelled her to raise her eyes. "Good-by," he said, softly pressing her hand.

"Good-by," she answered. Then she quickly drew back her hand and turned away. As she descended the stairs she felt that he was still looking at her. She wanted to look back, but she closed her eyes and pressed closely to her husband's arm till they reached the cloak-room door.

While she and Florence were putting on their wraps, she could hear the distant strains of music coming from the ball-room; they seemed to her like the last echo of the love which had flamed so brilliantly for a moment in her heart, and now must die and become a memory. The music stopped. "It is all over," she thought; then she hurried away with Florence and her husband down the great stairway to the street door.

"Mrs. Sanderson's carriage," called a servant on the stairs. "Mrs.

Sanderson's carriage," was echoed from the street. She heard a rumbling noise of wheels; then the street door opened, and she felt a blast of cold, refreshing air. "The carriage is here, ma'am," called her footman, and they pa.s.sed out into the darkness. At the end of the awning-covered pa.s.sage the carriage lamps burned dimly, and she could hear the restless champing of bits. They reached the carriage and took their places; the door was closed; the servant mounted the box, the carriage rolled away crunching the crisp snow under its wheels. Marion sank into a corner and tried to think. "I did my best," she said to herself again and again. "I did my best, but it was so hard." Over the snow-m.u.f.fled stones the carriage rolled past ma.s.sive structures, black and silent in the darkness. Huge, scowling ogres, they seemed to Marion, coldly frowning their displeasure. On through the darkened streets they went and over the river bridge; she could see the flickering street lamps faintly glistening on the ice, and she thought they were feeble hope rays shining through the darkness. Marion closed her eyes and listened to the wheels creaking through the snow. How long it was she did not know, but after a time she felt a sense of stillness. She opened her eyes. They were home.