The ball was at its height.

Even the coldest and most _blase_ of the guests had warmed up and caught fire at the blaze of excitement and enjoyment.

The ball-room was dazzling in the beauty of its decorations and the soft effulgence of the shaded electric light, in which the magnificent jewels of the titled and wealthy women seemed to glow with a subdued and chastened fire.

A dance was in progress, and Stafford, as he stood by the doorway and looked mechanically and dully at the whirling crowd, the kaleidoscope of colour formed by the rich dresses, the fluttering fans, and the dashes of black represented by the men's clothes, thought vaguely that he had never seen anything more magnificent, more elegant of wealth and success.

But through it all, weird and ghost-like shone Ida's girlish face, with its love-lit eyes and sweetly curving lips.
He looked round, and presently he saw Maude Falconer in her strange and striking dress.