“Is she here, Mrs. Kitty?” I whispered.

“You shall guess.  Come.”  And so, as occasion offered, I was put through this ordeal, by no means an easy one.  At each fair charmer, as I bowed, I looked with what directness I dared, to see if I might penetrate the mask and so foil Kitty in her amiable intentions.  This occupation caused me promptly to forget most of the names which I heard, and which I doubt not were all fictitious.  As we passed out at the foot of the row I recalled that I had not heard the name of Ellen.

“Now then, which one is she?” I queried of my hostess.

“Silly, do you want me to put your hand in hers?  You are now on your own resources.  Play the game.”  And the next moment she again was gone.

I had opportunity, without rudeness, the crowd so pressing in behind me, to glance once more up the line.  I saw, or thought I saw, just a chance glance toward where I stood, near the foot of the Row of Mystery, as they called it.  I looked a second time, and then all doubt whatever vanished.

If this girl in the black laces, with the gold comb in her hair, and the gold-shot little shoes just showing at the edge of her gown, and the red rose at her hair, held down by the comb—­half hidden by the pile of locks caught up by the ribbon of the mask—­if this girl were not the mysterious Ellen, then indeed must Ellen look well to her laurels, for here, indeed, was a rival for her!

I began to edge through the ranks of young men who gathered there, laughing, beseeching, imploring, claiming.  The sparkle of the scene was in my veins.  The breath of the human herd assembled, sex and sex, each challenging the other, gregarious, polygamous.

I did not walk; the music carried me before her.  And so I bowed and murmured, “I have waited hours for my hostess to present me to Miss Ellen.” (I mumbled the rest of some imaginary name, since I had heard none.)

The girl pressed the tip of her fan against her teeth and looked at me meditatively.

“And ours, of course, is this dance,” I went on.

“If I could only remember all the names—­” she began hesitatingly.

“I was introduced as Jack C., of Virginia.”

“Yes?  And in what arm?”

“Cavalry,” I replied promptly.  “Do you not see the yellow?” I gestured toward the facings.  “You who belong to the Army ought to know.”

“Why do you think I belong to the Army?” she asked, in a voice whose low sweetness was enough to impel any man to catch the mask from her face and throw it down the nearest well.

“You belong to the Army, and to Virginia,” I said, “because you asked me what is my arm of the service; and because your voice could come from nowhere but Virginia.  Now since I have come so far to see you and have found you out so soon, why do you not confess that you are Miss Ellen?  Tell me your name, so that I may not be awkward!”

“We have no names to-night,” she answered.  “But I was just thinking; there is no Jack C. in the Gazette who comes from Virginia and who wears a captain’s straps.  I do not know who you are.”