There was about her every movement a queenly grace that made her remarkable, and yet she was plainly not one to court attention.

Her face in repose had a look of unutterable weariness.
"How old are you please ?" said the magician.
"Twenty-five." He glanced up at her.
"Yes, twenty-five," she repeated.

"I am twenty-five to-day." He looked at her fixedly for a few seconds, then in silence returned to his cards.
She continued to watch him without much interest.

The dance-music was quickening to the _finale_.

The hubbub of voices had died away.