“Don’t!” she objected as she felt his hands on her bare arm.  “Your hands are—­are too damp.  They’ll take all the starch out of my sleeves.”

“Sign of a warm heart,” he answered as he led her away.

Adonis was with Rosebud.  What a charming couple they made!  And how perfectly they both danced!

Close beside them fluttered Night.  She was with the clown and seemed to enjoy the contrast.

One of the most distinguished masculine figures was Hiawatha, the Indian lad.  His face was made up with real skill, and his bow and quiver hung gracefully at his back as he strode about.  He had not danced, but he was evidently having a most delightful time with the Moon figure and Buttercup.

At the intermission a general onslaught was made by the young men to penetrate the disguises worn by the ladies.

“Plagued awkward,” complained Hiawatha when he had failed to ascertain who Luna was.  “I might be making love to my own—­”

“Sister!” snapped the girl, laughing at the youth’s discomfiture.

“But won’t you tell me just this?” he pleaded.  “Who on earth is the girl in the black robe—­the nun?  See, there she goes off toward the lake with Antonio.”

“How can I tell?” answered Luna.  “But if you really want to know, suppose we follow them?”

“Great idea!” agreed the Indian.  “There goes Rosebud and Adonis.  My, but they are hitting the trail, if you will pardon the language of an early settler.  Suppose we go around this way?  Then we can have a full view of both pairs in this mystery.”

“As you please,” answered Luna with some condescension as they started toward the little lake.

“Shall we sit here?”

It was Adonis speaking to Rosebud.  She sank down upon a rustic bench and instantly noticed a couple turn behind the spruce hedge.

They were both in black.  It was Antonio and the nun.

CHAPTER XIX

A STRANGE DISCOVERY

Adonis and Rosebud sat for a while at the side of the miniature lake, where the pretty little lights dimpled in the placid waters, and where now a score of merrymakers were clamoring for a ride in the tiny launch which Jack Kimball and his chums, Ed and Walter, had rigged up, in order to add picturesqueness to the fete.

“Don’t you want to take a sail?” asked the Greek youth of his fair companion.

“Oh, no, indeed, thank you.  I must leave that for the others.”

“You must?” and he accented the last word, as if to penetrate her disguise by this act of deference to the “others.”

“Oh, well,” she answered hesitatingly, “I never did care much for sailing, to tell the truth—­especially in a—­tub.  I prefer a place where there is at least room in which to dip my hands.”

“Then let us walk,” he suggested.  “I am anxious to see all over the grounds.  Aren’t they splendid?  Just see that cave formed by the cedars, back of the lighted path.  I declare’ this place looks like a real fairyland to-night.”