“I beg your pardon.  Pray forgive me!  I should have known better.”

In the twinkling of an eye the interrupted dancers were sweeping on again, and the apologetic stranger, hat in hand, turning for a farewell look at the pair.  Claire Robson felt an up-leap of the heart; a fresh ecstasy quickened her.  It was the Serbian!

They finished the dance almost opposite their table and were met by a patter of applause from Mrs. Condor and Stillman, who were already seated.

Claire was flaming with embarrassment as she faced Stillman.

“I hope you’ll understand, Mr. Stillman,” she faltered.  “But Mr. Edington seemed willing to risk my ignorance.”

Mrs. Condor turned Claire’s plaintive apology into a covert attack upon Stillman’s courage, but Stillman rescued Claire from further confusion by laughing back: 

“Well, I’ll have my revenge on Edington.  I’ll grant him all the one-steps, but he can’t have any of the waltzes, Miss Robson.”

The waiter began to pour out the champagne.  Claire settled back in her seat with a feeling of delightful languor.  The dance had released all the pent-up emotions that a night of vivid sensations had called into her life.  She had come into the Rose Room of the Palace Hotel quivering in the leash of a restrained enjoyment; it had taken the quick lash of opportunity to send her spirits hurtling forward in wild and headlong abandon.  She lifted her wine-glass in answer to the upraised glasses of her companions, and the thought flashed over her that it would be impossible for her to have quite her old vision again.  In every life there are culminating moments of joy or sorrow which either clear or dim the horizon, and Claire felt that such moment was now hers.

Stillman rose promptly in his seat at the first strains of the waltz, which proved to be the next number.  Claire stepped out upon the floor with confidence.

She did not need any word of reassurance this time to tell her that her dancing was more than acceptable, and, true to her brief experience with Stillman, he refrained from voicing the obvious.  They had begun the dance promptly and for the first whirl about they had the floor almost to themselves.  Claire’s discreet sidelong glances detected many approving nods in their direction; people were noticing them and making favorable comment....  The floor filled, but even in the crowd Claire had a sense that she and her partner were standing out distinctly.

The very nature of the waltz contrasted sharply with the one-step.  There was less abandon and more art.  The first dance had expressed a primitive emotion; the present slow and measured whirl a discriminating sensation.  And slowly, under the spell of Stillman’s calm and yet strangely glowing manner, Claire recovered her poise.  All night she had been inhaling every fresh delight rapturously with the closed eyes and open senses that one brings to the enjoyment of blossoms