He stood for a moment alone at the threshold of the ballroom, watching the glittering display. The _Lord Nathiir_ was the playground of the wealthy, and a goodly number of Borlaam's wealthiest were here, vying with the ranking nobles, the Moarises, for splendor. Herndon felt a twinge of bitterness. His people were from beyond the sea, but by rank and preference he belonged in the bright lights of the ballroom, not standing here in the garment of a steward. He moved forward. The noble couple sat on raised thrones at the far end, presiding over a dancing-area in which the grav had been turned down; the couples drifted gracefully, like figures out of fable, feet touching the ground only at intervals. Herndon recognized Lord Moaris from the auction. A dour, short, thick-bodied individual he was, resplendent in his court robes, with a fierce little beard stained bright red after the current fashion. He sat stiffly upright on his throne, gripping the armrests of the carven chair as if he were afraid of floating off toward the ceiling. In the air before him shimmered the barely perceptible haze of a neutralizer field designed to protect him from the shots of a possible assassin. By his side sat his Lady, supremely self-possessed and lovely. Herndon was astonished by her youth. No doubt the nobles had means of restoring lost freshness to a woman's face, but there was no way of recreating the youthful bloom so convincingly. The Lady Moaris could not have been more than twenty-three or twenty-five. Her husband was several decades older. It was small wonder that he guarded her so jealously. She smiled in sweet content at the scene before her. Herndon, too, smiled--at her beauty, and at the use to which he hoped to put it. Her skin was soft pink; a wench of the bath Herndon had met belowdecks had told him she bathed in the cream of the ying-apple twice daily. Her eyes were wide-set and clear, her nose finely made, her lips two red arching curves. She wore a dress studded with emeralds; it flowed from her like light. It was open at the throat, revealing a firm bosom and strong shoulders. She clutched a diamond-crusted scepter in one small hand. Herndon looked around, found a lady of the court who was unoccupied at the moment, and asked her to dance. They danced silently, gliding in and out of the grav field; Herndon might have found it a pleasant experience, but he was not primarily in search of pleasant experiences now. He was concerned only with attracting the attention of the Lady Moaris. He was successful. It took time; but he was by far biggest and most conspicuous man of the court assembled there, and it was customary for Lord and Lady to leave their thrones, mingle with their courtiers, even dance with them. Herndon danced with lady after lady, until finally he found himself face to face with the Lady Moaris. "Will you dance with me?" she asked. Her voice was like liquid gossamer.