An instant later she did turn—full upon him; and Barry’s heart almost ceased to beat. In that brief second, before she was whirled away into the crowd, he saw the wonderful brown eyes, the tender, shapely mouth, the graceful curve of cheek and chin which had so fascinated him the night before, and which had scarcely left his mind for a moment since. The girl was Shirley Rives! *CHAPTER XVIII.* *CHAOS.* Never in all his life had Barry Lawrence been so staggered. For a moment or two he refused to believe the evidence of his senses. The age of miracles was passed, and it was nothing less than a miracle to see this girl, who had been penniless, friendless, desperate the night before, now clad in silks, glittering with jewels, and apparently absolutely at home amid these luxurious surroundings. It was more than absurd; it was utterly impossible. He had been deceived by some chance resemblance, coupled with the fact that her face remained so vividly and constantly in his mind, into fancying for a second that this stranger was Shirley Rives. Recovering his composure with an effort, Barry moved swiftly along the wall until he reached a nook banked with palms and ferns. Slipping through them, he let the trailing green curtain fall into place behind him. Then he waited, his eyes, fixed upon the gliding throng, for the girl to reappear. He meant to satisfy himself that he had made no mistake. Subtle, seductive, almost intoxicating in its rhythmic sweetness, the wonderful waltz music, while it fell upon unheeding ears, seemed, nevertheless, to stir his being with vague unrest. Couples flashed swiftly by his corner or glided past more slowly. Some were the epitome of graceful motion; others romped about the hall in modifications of the uncouth turkey trot and other dances of the same sort which had, of late, been attracting so much unfavorable comment. There were tall girls and short, beautiful and plain; but Barry’s eyes passed over their faces with the utmost indifference. Not one of them was the girl he sought. Suddenly his heart began to thud, and his figure stiffened as he bent forward and parted the leaves a little more. She was coming toward him down the polished floor, moving with that inimitable grace which seems born in most Southern girls. There was a gleam of jewels on her corsage and in her hair. The diamond buckles on her absurdly tiny satin slippers winked and sparkled as her feet kept perfect time with the music. The swish of her gown sounded clearly to the strained senses of the man behind the palms. Just as the couple glided so close that he could almost have touched them, the girl looked up into her partner’s face, and laughed, a low, soft, bewitching laugh, which sent the blood boiling into Barry’s face, and brought his teeth together on his under lip.