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turned to take them from her. As people will, they forgot I had a mirror before me, and I saw the glance they exchanged. My aunt raised an eyebrow inquiringly, nodding at me; Mary shrugged. For a moment they looked like sisters, their faces distorted by identical expressions of sly suspicion.
    I had realized that though Mary was supposed to be my maid, she was more devoted to my aunt. But it had never occurred to me, until that moment, that she might be my aunt's spy. I had never, until then, had anything to hide.
    That discovery put me into a state of sulky rage, and I did not cooperate at all as they buttoned me into my gown and painted me like a puppet. I must have looked well enough, for my aunt went off to her own toilette, admonishing me not to sit, lie down, eat, or otherwise disturb a single fold. I was still sulking when we set off; in the darkness of the coach I rubbed off all the paint my aunt had put on my cheeks and mouth.
    Though my heart was broken I felt it stir with excitement at the sight of S—, House, all aglow with lights in the darkening evening. Thousands of wax tapers illumined the house, giving the soft light that is of all things most becoming a lady's looks. Eagerly I stepped out of the carriage—and stopped, paralyzed by the sight before me.
    Held back by liveried servants, a crowd of humble folk had come to watch the great ones arrive. I could understand their desire to catch a glimpse of the festivities within, to gape at the lovely gowns and jewels and carriages. What I did not understand, or expect, was the way they looked.
    The faces were like empty circles of paper, with black holes for eyes, staring, staring. Not a one of them smiled or called out; but there was a low, sullen, muttering sound, like the rumble of a distant storm. I had to force myself to pass along the narrow aisle between those dark waves of humanity; I had the queer fancy that they would swallow me up as the waves of the sea drowned the Egyptians who pursued Moses.
    Once inside, I forgot the mob. The entrance hallway was larger than our drawing room at home, a vast expanse of marble floors, lit by glittering chandeliers. Hothouse flowers were everywhere, filling the air with perfume; in alcoves along the walls, life-sized statues posed—but with propriety for Lady S—, following the new fashion of modesty, had had her Greek goddesses draped.
    The stairs, their balustrades twined with vines and roses, swept up toward the ballroom. We mounted them slowly; I was so dazzled by the lights and sweet odors, by the flash of diamonds on white throats and wrists that I felt very small and insignificant. I was painfully conscious of my weak limb; the more I tried to control my limp, the worse it got.
    An attendant at the top of the stairs bawled out our names; then we were within, in the ballroom. It was such a big room that it did not look crowded, though a vast number of people were already present. We made our way to the side of the room, where there were entire trees in huge pots. Panting from the stairs and fanning herself vigorously, my aunt looked around the room, exclaiming as she recognized acquaintances and famous faces.
    My eye was caught by a gentleman standing by the far wall. He was unusually tall and erect of bearing, with broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist. He was all in black save for the snowy expanse of his shirt front, and his own coloring echoed the somber shades of his dress. He was a striking figure; but it was not his appearance that caught my attention so much as his air. Even in the crowd he seemed apart, isolated.
    As if he felt my rude stare, he turned his head, and our eyes met. An odd thrill ran through me.
    Without doubt he was the handsomest man I had ever seen. His looks were not to my immediate taste, obsessed as I was by mild blue eyes and fair curls; but they were certainly remarkable. His eyes were as dark as his hair, and his features were coldly perfect: a straight Grecian nose