"It seemed a very blessed bit of reality to me," Darrell laughed in return, drawing her arm within his own as they proceeded towards the stairs. "You are a superb dancer; now you certainly can have no scruples about claiming some waltzes," Kate replied, withdrawing her arm and again placing her programme in his hands. As they paused at the head of the stairs while Darrell complied with her request, a chorus of voices was heard in the hall below. "Kate, are you never coming?" some one called, and a sprightly brunette appeared for an instant on the first landing, but vanished quickly at sight of Darrell. "Girls!" they heard her exclaim to the merry group below; "would you believe it? She is taking a base advantage of us; she has discovered what we did not suppose existed in this house--a young man--and is getting her programme filled in advance!" Cries of "Oh, Kate, that's not fair!" followed. Kate leaned laughingly over the balustrade. "He's an angel of a dancer, girls," she called, "but I'll promise not to monopolize him!" Darrell returned the programme, saying, as they passed down the stairs together,-- "I didn't want to appear selfish, so I only selected three, but give me more if you can, later." Kate smiled. "I think," she replied, "you will speedily find yourself in such demand that I will consider myself fortunate to have secured those three; but," she added shyly, as her eyes met his, "my first waltz was with you, and that was just as I intended it should be!" Through the hours which followed so swiftly Darrell was in a sort of waking dream, a state of superlative happiness, unmarred as yet by phantoms from the shrouded past or misgivings as to the dim, uncertain future; past and future were for the time alike forgotten. One image dominated his mind,--the form and face of the fair young hostess moving among her guests as a queen amid her court, carrying her daintily poised head as though conscious of the twofold royal crown of womanhood and woman's love. One thought surged continuously through and through his brain,--that she was his, his by the sovereign right of love. Whatever courtesy he showed to others was for her sake, because they were her guests, her friends, and when unengaged he stationed himself in some quiet corner or dimly lighted alcove where, unobserved, he could watch her movements with their rhythmic grace or catch the music of her voice, the sight or sound thrilling him with joy so exquisite as to be akin to pain. The oft-repeated compliments of the crowd about him seemed to him empty, trite, meaningless; what could they know of her real beauty compared with himself who saw her through Love's eyes! As he stood thus alone in a deep bay-window, shaded by giant palms, some one paused beside him. "Our little debutante has surpassed herself to-night; she is fairest of the fair!"