Arrived at their destination, Mrs. Gaston and Margaret, escorted by General Gaston, were passing through the main hall on their way to the dressing-rooms, when they came upon Alan Decourcy, with a sumptuously apparelled lady on his arm. She was a decidedly pretty woman, and Margaret observed that she clung to her companion with an air of the friendliest familiarity. She also observed that her pink gauze costume was somewhat _decolleté_, and that a strap of black velvet stood in lieu of a sleeve across her white shoulder, a similar bit supporting a superb pendant of diamonds, which ornamented her fair, round throat. This lady bowed affably to Mrs. Gaston, and regarded Margaret with a broad stare. Alan, of course, spoke also, but for some reason Margaret avoided doing more than just glancing at him as she passed on toward the staircase. “And so Mrs. Vere already has your cousin in her toils!” said Mrs. Gaston, as they were approaching the dressing-room. “Was that Mrs. Vere?” said Margaret. “Who is she?” “Oh, she’s one of the most noted of the married belles!” said Mrs. Gaston. “If Mr. Decourcy were not a man of the world and well able to take care of himself, it might be well for you to warn him. As it is, I feel no anxiety about him.” “And who is Mr. Vere?” “Mrs. Vere’s husband. He may or may not be here. He’s apt to turn up in the supper-room.” Margaret said no more, but set herself to the adjustment of her toilet with a certain air of preoccupation. Having ascertained by a glance that her costume was in order, she stood looking very thoughtful as she waited for her cousin, whose touches here and there consumed a much longer time. When the two ladies emerged from the dressing-room together, they found Alan Decourcy, with General Gaston, awaiting them. He had freed himself from Mrs. Vere, in some way, and offered his arm to take Margaret into the room. She laid her hand within it lightly, and they followed General and Mrs. Gaston in silence. After they had spoken to their hostess and her daughters, Decourcy led Miss Trevennon away to make the tour of the rooms, which were ablaze with lights and flowers, and gorgeous to behold. “There’s something very distinguished about this dress you are wearing, Margaret,” he said, in a tone that was caressingly sweet, “or is it, perhaps, my cousin’s lovely face and figure that make it appear so? You are looking your very best, yet I never saw you so devoid of color.” “It’s the contrast with Mrs. Vere’s gorgeousness, perhaps!” said Margaret, with a rather strained little laugh. “When did you meet Mrs. Vere, by-the-way?” He turned suddenly, and looked at her with a glance of keen scrutiny, but, seeing the utter unsuspiciousness of her frank gaze, he said carelessly: “Mrs. Vere? Oh, she’s a very old friend! I hardly remember the time when I didn’t know Antoinette Vere.” “Did you know of her being in Washington?” “Yes, indeed; I saw her when I was in town, the other day. She lives here.”