Meanwhile the other maskers, if not at heart happier than Patty, were at least outwardly gay. The fun was heartily entered into on all sides, and mock flirtations abounded. Flossy accepted the proffered arm of an Italian bandit, one of the Samoset party; and the pair had joined the promenaders moving up and down the long hall.
"But whom do you represent?" he asked. "I do not understand your dress."
"Oh! I'm Dame Trot and her wonderful cat," Flossy returned lightly. "I supposed that even in Italy I had been heard of."
"So you have, Dame Trot; but, not seeing your cat, I was naturally puzzled."
"My cat," she replied confidentially, "is dead."
"Indeed? How sad! When did the melancholy event take place?"
"I do not know exactly. The fact is, he disappeared one night; and, as I'm sure he couldn't live without me, I am convinced that he must be dead."
"And you were deprived of even the privilege of weeping over his grave?"
"He is like Moses," she answered impressively. "The place of his sepulchre no man knoweth to this day."
"That is a distinction," laughed the brigand. "Keep a brave heart, Dame Trot: I may hear tidings of the wonderful cat yet. Meanwhile here is some one who is evidently looking for you."