It was the night of Cydonia's dance.
Although the band had been playing since the stroke of ten, guests were still arriving at the Cadells' door; in parties "personally conducted" by the hostess with whom they had dined, their cards already filled and flirtations well started, wearing an air of frozen indifference toward the rest of the gay crowd; in knots of twos and threes hastening from the play; and in stray units, chiefly men, cheered by the thought of approaching supper.
The morning room had been arranged to hold the coats and hats, and for the moment the hall was free from guests. A young man with straight, red hair brushed back from his forehead, and a discontented expression about his tired eyes, emerged from the cloak-room buttoning his gloves and, with a faint start of pleased
