Her eyes shone through her mask with a momentary irresolution as she bent in response to his bow.
With scarcely a pause he offered her his arm.
"You dance the waltz ?" She hesitated for a second; then, with an affirmatory murmur, accepted the proffered arm.

The bold stare with which he met her look had in it something of compulsion.
He led her instantly away from her retreat, and in a moment his hand was upon her waist.

He guided her into the gay stream of dancers without a word.
They began to waltz--a dream--waltz in which she seemed to float without effort, without conscious volition.

Instinctively she responded to his touch, keenly, vibrantly aware of the arm that supported her, of the dark, free eyes that persistently sought her own.
"Faith!" he suddenly said in his soft, Irish voice.

"To find Una without the lion is a piece of good fortune I had scarcely prayed for.