The music of the German waltz filled the long ball-room with harmony; his arm slid round her waist, her hand was clasped in his, the wax floor slipped from under her feet, and Rose floated away into elysium.
The valse d'ecstase was over, and they were in a dim, half-lighted conservatory.

Tropical flowers bloomed around them, scenting the warm air; delicious music floated entrancingly in.

The cold white wintry moon flooded the outer world with its frosty glory, and Rose felt as if fairyland were no myth, and fairy tales no delusion.

They were alone in the conservatory; how they got there she never knew; how she came to be clinging to his arm, forgetful of past, present, and future, she never could understand.
"Rose," said that most musical of voices; "when will you learn to forget and forgive?
See, here is a peace-offering!" He had a white camellia in his button-hole--a flower that half an hour ago had been chief beauty of Kate's bouquet.

He took it out now, and twined its long stem in and out of her abundant curls.
"Wear it," he said, "and I shall know I am forgiven.