"It is good of you," she said gratefully. "I am longing to go and look at myself. But can you fasten them first? I'm sure I can't." He complied with his almost feminine dexterity, and in a few moments a sparkling and glorified Dinah rose and skipped into her room to see the general effect of her transformation. Scott lingered to close the jewel-case. Frankly, he had enjoyed himself during the last ten minutes. Moreover he was sure she would be pleased with the result of his labours. But he was hardly prepared for the cry of delight that reached him as he turned to depart. He paused as he heard it, and in a moment Dinah flashed out again like a radiant butterfly and gave him both her hands. "You--magician!" she cried. "How did you do it? How can I thank you? I've never been so nearly pretty in my life!" He bowed in courtly fashion over the little brown hands. "Then you have never seen yourself with the eyes of others," he said. "I congratulate you on doing so to-night." She laughed her merry laugh. "Thank you! Thank you a hundred times! I've only one thing left to wish for." "What is that?" he said. She told him with a touch of shyness. "That--Apollo--will dance with me!" Scott laughed and let her go. "Oh, is that all? Then I will certainly see that he does." "Oh, but don't tell him!" pleaded Dinah. "I never repeat confidences," declared Scott. "Good-bye, _Signorina_!" And with another bow, he left her. CHAPTER V APOLLO The _salon_ was a blaze of lights and many shifting colours. The fantastic crowd that trooped thither from the _salle-à-manger_ was like a host of tropical flowers. The talking and laughter nearly drowned the efforts of the string band in the far corner. Scott in ordinary evening-dress stood near the door talking to an immense Roman Emperor, looking by contrast even smaller and more insignificant than usual. Yet a closer observation would have shown that the same instinctive dignity of bearing characterized them both. Utterly unlike though they were, yet in this respect it was not difficult to trace their brotherhood. Though moulded upon lines so completely dissimilar, they bore the same indelible stamp--the stamp of good birth which can never be attained by such as have it not. Sir Eustace Studley was the handsomest man in the room. His imperial costume suited his somewhat arrogant carriage. He looked like a man born to command. His keen eyes glanced hither and thither with an eagle-like intensity that missed nothing. He seemed to be on the watch for someone. "Who is it?" asked Scott, with a smile. "The lady of the rink?" The black brows went up haughtily for a moment, then descended in an answering smile. "She is the only woman I've seen here yet that's worth looking at," he observed.