The major presented his friend the colonel to Mrs. Van Spuytenduyvel, a tall dame with massive shoulders and majestic nose, who returned the colonel's bow with becoming haughtiness; and to Mr. Van Spuytenduyvel, a small man, ambushed in the voluminous skirts of his ample consort; and then the colonel and his friend were permitted to pass on and mingle in the festal throng. The major soon found an attractive acquaintance among the ladies, and slipped away, leaving Mark to shift for himself. It was the first time the colonel had ever attended a fashionable party, and the brilliancy of the scene and display of jewels and rich dresses rather dazzled him. A dull pastime, though, for he saw none but strange faces. He looked about him in the vague hope that perchance he might meet the one whose image occupied his thoughts; but apparently she was not present. As he stood staring with an inquisitive and rather bewildered expression, he attracted no little attention. His three years of campaigning certainly furnished an example of how thoroughly not only the mind, but its dial the countenance becomes subdued to what the former works in. He was now the _beau ideal_ of a dashing trooper: swarthy and sinewy as an Apache brave, with a decided chin and glittering eyes. The scar on his brow, too, neither softened his sternness nor enhanced his good looks, and he found himself the object of many stares and audible remarks from ladies to their escorts as to who he was, and whether a "regular" or "volunteer," until, embarrassed at the notice he attracted, he threaded his way to a corner secure from observation.