“To-night,” said Kitty to me, “one may be faithless, and be shriven by the morning sun.  Isn’t it funny how these things go?  Such a lot of fuss is made in the world by ignoring the great fact that man is by nature both gregarious and polygamous.  Believe me, there is much in this doctrine of the Mormons, out there in the West!”

“Yes, look at Benjie, for instance,” I answered.  “It is the spell of new faces.”

“You see a face on the street, in the church, passing you, to be gone the next instant forever,” she mused.  “Once I did myself.  I was mad to follow the man.  I saw him again, and was yet madder.  I saw him yet again, and made love to him madly, and then—­”

“You married him,” said I, knowing perfectly well the devotion of these two.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Kitty, sighing contentedly, “it was Matt, of course.  There’s something in that ‘Whom God hath joined together.’  But it ought to be God, and not man, that does the joining.”

“Suppose we talk philosophy rather than dance.”

“Not I!  We are here to-night to be young.  After all, Jack, you are young, and so is—­”

“Ellen?”

“Yes, and so is Ellen.”

The floor now was beginning to fill with dancers.  There moved before us a kaleidoscope of gay colors, over which breathed the fragrance of soft music.  A subtle charm emanated from these surroundings.  Music, the sight and odor of sweet flowers, the sound of pleasant waters, the presence of things beautiful—­these have ever had their effect on me.  So now I felt come upon me a sort of soft content, and I was no longer moved to talk philosophy.

Sighing, I said to myself that I was young.  I turned to speak to my hostess, but she was gone on business of her own.  So there I stood for half an hour, biting my thumb.  I had as yet seen nothing of the mysterious Ellen, although many a score of eyes, in license of the carnival, had flashed through their masks at me, and many others as their owners passed by in the dance or promenade near where I stood.  Presently I felt a tug at my sleeve.

“Come with me,” whispered a voice.

It was Kitty.  We passed to the opposite side of the dancing floor, and halted at the front of a wide marquee, whose flaps were spread to cover a long row of seats.

“Count them,” whispered Kitty hoarsely.  “There are twelve!”

And so indeed there were, twelve beautiful young girls, as one might pronounce, even though all were masked with half-face dominos.  Half of them were dressed in white and half in black, and thus they alternated down the row.  Twelve hands handled divers fans.  Twelve pairs of eyes looked out, eyes merry, or challenging, or mysterious, one could not tell.  About these young belles gathered the densest throng of all the crowd.  Some gentlemen appeared to know certain of the beauties, but these had hard work to keep their places, for continually others came, and one after another was introduced in turn, all down the line, as presently it was to be my fortune to be.