Whenever she went out with Graydon his course was eminently satisfactory; she never felt herself neglected, while at the same time she saw that his attentions were welcomed everywhere.  She never lost her serene sense of proprietorship, and only grew more fond of him as she noted how readily he left the side of beautiful and gifted women to look after her.  He had often laughingly asserted that he went into society only for amusement, and his course under her own observation confirmed his words.

Early in the winter during which our story opens, she had caught a succession of colds, and one proved so severe and obstinate that her friends were alarmed, fearing that she was going into a decline.  She slowly rallied, however, but was more frail than ever.  Before the gay season closed, just preceding Lent, Madge received an invitation to a very large party.  Graydon urged her to go, remarking that she had not yet seen society.  “Don’t be afraid, I’ll take care of you, little ghost,” he said, and with this assurance she accompanied him, contrary to her sister’s advice.  It was indeed a brilliant occasion.  The wide rooms of a Madison Avenue palace were thronged, and she had never even imagined such toilets as caught her eye on every side.  There were so many present that she could easily maintain her position of quiet spectator, and her eyes dilated with pleasure as she saw that Graydon was as much a leader as at other places where comparatively few were present.

At last her attention was attracted by one who was evidently a late comer, and whose presence appeared to fill the apartment.  All the others paled before her, as do the stars when the moon rises among them.  She was evidently young, and yet she did not suggest youth.  One would almost imagine that she had never had a childhood or a girlhood, but was rather a direct creation of metropolitan society.  Her exquisitely turned shoulders and arms were bare, and the diamonds about her neck were a circlet of fire.  The complexion of her fair oval face was singularly pure, and the color came and went so easily as to prove that it owed nothing to art.  The expression of her gray eyes was rather cold and haughty when at rest, and gave an impression of pride and the consciousness of power.  The trait which to the observant Madge seemed most marked at first, however, was her perfect ease.  Her slightest movement was grace itself.  Her entire self-possession was indicated by the manner in which she greeted the men who sought her attention, and many there were.  She could be perfectly polite, yet as repellent as ice, or she could smile with a fascination that even Madge felt would be hard to resist.  This girl, who was such an immense contrast to herself, wholly fixed her attention as she stood for a few moments, like a queen, surrounded by her courtiers.

Graydon had gone for a glass of water, and meeting a friend had been detained for a brief space.  Madge saw him coming, saw his eye light up with admiration as he caught sight of the beautiful stranger, but he came directly to her, and asked, genially, if there was anything else she would like.