.

NOTHING MORE SERIOUS THAN A HOUSE PARTY.
Standing just within the door, smiling and rubbing the gray bristles on his lip, was the Colonel.

In the center of the room stood a woman dressed in gray.

Maurice recognized the dress; it belonged to Mademoiselle of the Veil, who was now sans veil, sans hat.

A marvelous face was revealed to Maurice, a face of that peculiar beauty which poets and artists are often minded to deny, but for the love of which men die, become great or terrible, overturn empires and change the map of the world.
Her luxuriant hair, which lay in careless masses about the shapely head and intelligent brow, was a mixture of red and brown and gold, a variety which never ceases to charm; skin the pallor of ancient marble, with the shadow of rose lying below the eyes, the large, gray chatoyant eyes, which answered every impulse of the brain which ruled them.