“At a school?”

“At a—­a sort of school.”  The black domino laughed with ruefulness.  “At a very dull sort of school.”

“To which, I hope, you are not to return?”

She made no answer to that—­unless it was a sigh that slipped out.

“At any rate,” he said cheerily, “you are dancing to-night.”

“To-night—­yes, to-night I am dancing!” There was triumph in her young voice, triumph and faint defiance, and gayety again in her changing eyes.

Extraordinary, those eyes.  Innocent, audacious, bewildering....  To look down into them produced the oddest of excitement.

He took off his mask.  Masks were hindering things—­he could see so much better without.

She, too, could see better—­could see him better.  Shyly, yet intently, her gaze took note of him, of the clean, clear-cut young face, bronzed and rather thin, of the dark hair that looked darker against the scarlet cap, of the deep-set eyes, hazel-brown, that met hers so often and were so full of contradictory things ... life ... and humor ... and frank simplicity ... and subtle eagerness.

He looked so young and confident and handsome....

“You are—­a Scotchman?” slipped out from her black yashmak.

“Only in costume.  I am an American.”

She repeated it a little musingly.  “I do not think I ever met an American young man.”  She added, “I have met old ones—­yes, and middle-aged ones and the women—­but a young one, no.”

“A retired spot, that school of yours,” said Ryder appreciatively.  “You are French?”

“That is for your imagination!” Teasingly, she laughed.  “I am, monsieur, only a black domino!”

It was the loveliest laugh, Ryder was instantly aware, and the loveliest voice in the world.  Yes, and the loveliest eyes.

He forgot the crowd.  He forgot the heat.  He forgot—­alas!—­Jinny Jeffries.  He was aware of an intense exhilaration, a radiant sense of well-being, and—­at the music’s beginning—­of a small palm pressed again to his, a light form within his arm ... of shy, enchanting eyes out from the shrouding black.

“Do put that veil away,” he youthfully entreated.  “It’s quite time.  The others are almost all unmasked.”

Her glance about the room returned to him with mock plaintiveness.  She shook her head as they spun lightly about a corner.

“Perhaps, monsieur, I have an unfortunate nose.”

“My nerves are strong.”

“But why afflict them?” Prankishly her eyes sparkled up at him over the black veil that made her a mystery.  “Enjoy the present, monsieur!”

“Are you enjoying it?”

Her lashes dropped, like black butterflies.  She was a changeling of a girl, veering from gayety to shyness....  Her gaze was now on her wrist watch, a slender blaze of platinum and diamonds.

“The present—­yes,” she said in a muffled little voice.

He bent his head to hear her through the veil.