The Indian fakirs and showmen gave a performance in the courtyard at midnight.  They were followed by the Bedouin tumblers and the inspired Persians, who danced with frantic abandon and the ripe lust of joy.  There was but one unfortunate accident.  Mr. Rivers, formerly of the bank, got very tight and fell down the steps leading to the courtyard, breaking his left arm.

Lord Deppingham and Chase kept their heads.  They saw to it that the watch over the grounds and about the chateau was strictly maintained.  The former led the grand march with the Princess.  She was more ravishingly beautiful than ever.  Her gown, exquisitely cool and simple, suggested that indefinable, unmistakable touch of class that always marks the distinction between the woman who subdues the gown and the gown which subdues the woman.

Hollingsworth Chase was dazzled.  He discovered, much to his subsequent amusement, that he was holding his breath as he stared at her from the opposite side of the banquet hall, which had been transformed into a ballroom.  She had just entered with the Deppinghams.  Something seemed to shout coarsely, scoffingly in his ear:  “Now, do you realise the distance that lies between?  She was made for kings and princes, not for such as you!”

He waited long before presenting himself in quest of the dance he hungered for so greedily—­afraid of her!  She greeted him with a new, brighter light in her eyes; a quiver of delight, long in restraint, came into her voice; he saw and felt the welcome in her manner.

The blood surged to his head; he mumbled his request.  Then, for the first time, he was near to holding her close in his arms—­he was clasping her fingers, touching her waist, drawing her gently toward his heart.  Once, as they swept around the almost empty ballroom, she looked up into his eyes.  Neither had spoken.  His lips parted suddenly and his fingers closed down upon hers.  She saw the danger light in his eyes and knew the unuttered words that struggled to his lips and stopped there.  She never knew why she did it, but she involuntarily shook her head before she lowered her eyes.  He knew what she meant.  His heart turned cold again and the distance widened once more to the old proportions.

He left her with Bobby Browne and went out upon the cool, starlit balcony.  There he gently cursed himself for a fool, a dolt, an idiot.

The shouts of laughter and the clapping of hands on the inside did not draw him from his unhappy reverie.  He did not know until afterward that the official announcement of the engagement of Miss Minnie Pelham and Thomas Saunders was made by Bobby Browne and the health of the couple drunk in a series of bumpers.