"Which—which is Mrs. Gordon?" he said in a sharp voice, that almost startled the young exquisite out of his oriental propriety.
"Why, how dull you are—as if there ever existed another woman on earth to be mistaken for her."
"Is that the woman?" questioned Leicester, almost extending his arm toward a lady dressed as Ceres, who stood near the door of an adjoining room.
"Of course it is. Come, let me present you, while there is a chance, though how the deuce you got here without a previous introduction, I cannot tell. Come, she is looking this way."
"Not yet," answered Leicester, drawing aside, where he was less liable to observation.
"Why, how strangely you look all at once. Caught with the first glance, ha?" persisted his tormentor.
Leicester attempted to smile, but his lips refused to move. He would have spoken, but for once speech left him.
"Come, come, I am engaged for the next polka."
"Excuse me," answered Leicester, drawing his proud figure to its full height; "I was only jesting; Mrs. Gordon and I are old acquaintances."
"Then I will go find my partner," cried the Turk, half terrified by the flash of those fierce eyes.