Here and there a woman was in moccasins, though the majority danced in frail ball-room slippers of silk and satin.

At one end of the hall a great open doorway gave glimpse of another large room where the crowd was even denser.

From this room, in the lulls in the music, came the pop of corks and the clink of glasses, and as an undertone the steady click and clatter of chips and roulette balls.
The small door at the rear opened, and a woman, befurred and muffled, came in on a wave of frost.

The cold rushed in with her to the warmth, taking form in a misty cloud which hung close to the floor, hiding the feet of the dancers, and writhing and twisting until vanquished by the heat.
"A veritable frost queen, my Lucile," Colonel Trethaway addressed her.
She tossed her head and laughed, and, as she removed her capes and street-moccasins, chatted with him gayly.

But of Corliss, though he stood within a yard of her, she took no notice.