The people were forming for the lancers, and Mr. Henderson asked Madge to help make up a set.  She complied without hesitation.  Nor was she unmindful of the fact that Graydon sat in a position which commanded a view of the floor.  He had seen her glide out in the waltz with a grace second only to that of Miss Wildmere, even in his prejudiced eyes.  Now he again observed her curiously, and his disappointment and bitterness at heart increased, even while she compelled his wondering admiration.  He saw that, though she lacked Miss Wildmere’s conventional finish, she had a natural grace of her own.  He admitted that he had never seen so perfect a physical embodiment of womanhood.  She was slightly taller than her rival in his thoughts, and her costume gave an impression of additional height.  Apparently she was in the best of spirits, laughing often with her partner and an elderly gentleman who danced opposite to her, and who was full of old-time flourishes and jollity.  At last Graydon thought, resentfully, “She is indeed changed.  That’s the style of life she is looking forward to, and she wishes no embarrassment or advice from me.  That dancing-jack, Henderson, and others of his sort are to be her ‘friends’ also, no doubt.  Very well, I know how to console myself;” and he turned his eyes resolutely to Miss Wildmere.

In the galop that followed he naturally danced with his quondam sister, and Mr. Henderson with Miss Wildmere.  Graydon was the last one to show feeling in public or do anything to cause remark.  Now that Madge possessed in her partner the same advantage that Miss Wildmere had enjoyed, the admiring lookers-on were at a loss to decide which of the two girls bore the palm; and Graydon acknowledged that the former invalid’s step had a lightness and an elasticity which he had never known to be surpassed, and that she kept time with him as if his volition were hers.  She showed no sign of weariness, even after he began to grow fatigued.  As he danced he remembered how he had carried “the little ghost” on his arm, then tossed her, breathless from scarce an effort, on the lounge, whence she looked at him in laughing affection.  This strong, superb creature was indeed another and an alien being, and needed no aid from him.  Before he was conscious of flagging in his step, she said, quietly, “You are growing tired, Graydon.  Suppose we return to the piazza.”

“Yes,” he said, a trifle bitterly, “you are the stronger now.  The ‘little ghost’ has vanished utterly.”

“A woman is better than a ghost,” was her reply.

He and Miss Wildmere strolled away down the same path on which Madge had told him that she could not be his sister.  Mr. Muir was tired, and went to his room in no very amiable humor.  Mrs. Muir waited for Graydon’s return, feeling that, although the office of chaperon had in a sense been forced upon her, she could not depart without seeing Miss Wildmere again.  The young lady at last appeared,