They were all now ready for fun, and taking her programme handed it round amongst themselves and soon filled it. When it came back to her she looked at it, amazed. "But I shall never dance all these!" she exclaimed. "No, you will sit out some of them," said Jocelyn, coolly--"With me!" The ball-room doors were just then thrown invitingly open and entrancing strains of rhythmical music came swinging and ringing in sweet cadence on the ears. He passed his arm round her waist. "We'll begin the revelry!" he said, and in another moment she felt herself floating deliciously, as it were, in his arms--her little feet flying over the polished floor, his hand warmly clasping her slim soft body--and her heart fluttered wildly like the beating wings of a snared bird as she fell into the mystic web woven by the strange and pitiless loom of destiny. The threads were already tangling about her--but she made no effort to escape. She was happy in her dream; she imagined that her Ideal had been found in the Real. CHAPTER IV The first waltz over, Jocelyn led his partner out of the ball-room. "Come into the garden," he said. "It's quite a real garden for London--and I know every inch of it. We'll find a quiet corner and sit down and rest." She answered nothing--she was flushed, and breathing quickly from the excitement of the dance, and he paused on his way to pick up a light wrap he found on one of the sofas, and put it round her shoulders. "You mustn't catch a chill," he went on. "But it's not a cold night--in fact it's very close and sultry--almost like thunder. A little air will be good for us."