They danced together, and where they passed, the others steered a little off so as to give them room on the dance floor, as if the men feared that they might cross the formidable Landis, and as if the women feared to be brought into too close comparison with Nelly Lebrun.  She was, indeed, a brilliant figure.  She had eyes of the Creole duskiness, a delicate olive skin, with a pastel coloring.  The hand on the shoulder of Landis was a thing of fairy beauty.  And her eyes had that peculiar quality of seeming to see everything, and rest on every face particularly.  So that, as she whirled toward Donnegan, he winced, feeling that she had found him out among the shadows.

She had a glorious partner to set her off.  And Donnegan saw bitterly why Lou Macon could love him.  Height without clumsiness, bulk and a light foot at once, a fine head, well poised, blond hair and a Grecian profile—­such was Jack Landis.  He wore a vest of fawn skin; his boots were black in the foot and finished with the softest red leather for the leg.  And he had yellow buckskin trousers, laced in a Mexican fashion with silver at the sides; a narrow belt, a long, red silk handkerchief flying from behind his neck in cowboy fashion.  So much flashing splendor, even in that gay assembly, would have been childishly conspicuous on another man.  But in big Jack Landis there was patently a great deal of the unaffected child.  He was having a glorious time on this evening, and his eye roved the room challenging admiration in a manner that was amusing rather than offensive.  He was so overflowingly proud of having the prettiest girl in The Corner upon his arm and so conscious of being himself probably the finest-looking man that he escaped conceit, it might almost be said, by his very excess of it.

Upon this splendid individual, then, the obscure Donnegan bent his gaze.  He saw the dancers pause and scatter as the music ended, saw them drift to the tables along the edges of the room, saw the scurry of waiters hurrying drinks up in the interval, saw Nelly Lebrun sip a lemonade, saw Jack Landis toss off something stronger.  And then Donnegan skirted around the room and came to the table of Jack Landis at the very moment when the latter was tossing a gold piece to the waiter and giving a new order.

Prodigal sons in the distance of thought are apt to be both silly:  and disgusting, but at close hand they usually dazzle the eye.  Even the cold brain of Donnegan was daunted a little as he drew near.

He came behind the chair of the tall master of The Corner, and while Nelly Lebrun stopped her glass halfway to her lips and stared at the ragged stranger, Donnegan was whispering in the ear of Jack Landis:  “I’ve got to see you alone.”

Landis turned his head slowly and his eye darkened a little as he met the reddish, unshaven face of the stranger.  Then, with a careless shrug of distaste, he drew out a few coins and poured them into Donnegan’s palm; the latter pocketed them.