They were held by a vision in the center of the room, and he was blinded to everything else.
Half surrounded by a little group stood Ruth Nelson, red-lipped, bright-eyed, eager, her slender white-clad figure on tiptoe with buoyant expectancy.

The crimson rose caught in her hair kept impatient time to the tap of her restless high-heeled slipper, and she swayed and sang with the music in a way to set the sea-waves dancing.
It was small matter to Sandy that the lace on her dress had belonged to her great-grandmother, or that the pearls about her round white throat had been worn by an ancestor who was lady in waiting to a queen of France.

He only knew she meant everything beautiful in the world to him,--music and springtime and dawn,--and that when she smiled it was sunlight in his heart.
"I don't think you can g-get a dance there," said Annette, following his gaze.

"She is always engaged ahead.

But I'll find out, if you w-want me to." "Would you, now ?" cried Sandy, fervently pressing her hand.