“Ah, good evening, Mademoiselle Nadiboff,” murmured M. Lemaire, as he bent low before the handsome young woman.  “I am charmed.”

Then he murmured, in a low tone, swiftly: 

“Yonder are, the two boys.  Jack Benson is the one you will interest.  You, Sara, know the arts of conversation well enough.  Make him your slave, until he is willing to tell all that we want to know.  Invite him to drive with you in your auto car to-morrow.  But, bah!  You will know how to make him talk!”

All this was said swiftly, unheard by anyone else.  Then M. Lemaire, having appeared hardly to pause, passed on.

A minute later Mademoiselle Nadiboff was chatting laughingly with Lieutenant Featherstone.

“Who are those two young men over there?” questioned the young woman.  “Are they of the Navy?”

“No, though related to us in interest,” replied the lieutenant.  “They are the captain and chief engineer of the submarine that arrived this afternoon.  Youthful, aren’t they?”

“Very,” agreed Mademoiselle Sara.  “But I like their faces.  You will present me, will you not, Lieutenant?”

“Gladly.”

So Jack and Hal found themselves bowing before the handsome young foreigner.  Mlle. Sara had the appearance of being, equally interested in both of them, though she soon managed, with her social arts, in drawing somewhat aside with Jack Benson.

And then the music crashed out.  One of the young woman’s feet began to tap the floor, her eyes glistening.

“Entrancing music,” she murmured.

“If you are not engaged for this dance—­” murmured Jack, hesitatingly.  This beautiful creature seemed so superior to the usual run of the human kind that the submarine boy felt he was too presuming.

“You are very kind,” replied the young woman, with a swift smile.  “I shall enjoy it greatly.”

Jack took one of her hands in his, resting his other hand lightly at her waist.  A moment later they glided over the polished floor.

“Benson is doing famously,” laughed Lieutenant Featherstone, half-enviously.  “But before I think of myself, Hastings, I must seek an interesting partner for you, also.”

“Kind of you,” returned Hal, gratefully.  “But I fear I must remain a wall-flower, or a human palm to-night.  I don’t know how to dance.”

“You don’t?” murmured Featherstone, in amazement.  “Good heavens!  I thought even the bootblacks knew how to dance in these modern days!”

Jacob Farnum knew how to dance, but did not care for it this evening.  He was much in love with his young wife, and, as she was not here, the ballroom floor had no attractions for him.  So he and Hal retired to seats at the side of the ballroom.

“Jack is dancing with a famously pretty girl—­the loveliest of many that are here to-night,” smiled the shipbuilder.  “I trust he won’t have his head turned.”