Lady Louise, with white azaleas in her hair and dress, stood stately and graceful, looking from tip to toe what she was the descendant of a race of "highly-wed, highly-fed, highly-bred" aristocrats.
But at neither of them Sir Everard glanced twice.

His eyes wandered around and lighted at last on a divinity in a cloud of misty white, crowned with dark-green ivy leaves aglitter with diamond drops.
While he gazed, Lord Ernest Strathmore came up, said something, and whirled her off in the waltz.

Away they flew.

Lord Ernest waltzed to perfection, and she--a French woman or a fairy only could float like that.
A fierce, jealous pang griped his heart; a second, and they were out of sight.

Sir Everard roused himself from his trance and went up to his hostess to pay his respects.
"Ah!" Lady Carteret said, a little spitefully, "the spell is broken at last! There was no mistaking that look, Sir Everard! My dear Lady Kingsland"-- laughing, but malicious still--"take care of your son.