"There's Mrs. Phelps with Mr. Fitzhugh," said Grace mischievously. "She would scratch my eyes out if she caught me dancing with you again so soon."
"I care not," replied the German recklessly and ardently. "When I see your eyes, the world is dead to me."
A compliment of this kind would have pleased most women, but Grace was accustomed to them. They rather irritated her.
"I'm tired now," she said languidly. "Please take me to my seat."
They joined Mrs. Stuart, who, comfortably ensconced in a corner, was flirting desperately with Mr. Brown, the second officer, a tall, handsome man, smart-looking in his full-dress uniform and white gloves. The count murmured his thanks, bowed, and retired.
"I'm so thirsty!" gasped Grace, sinking into a chair. "I wish I had an ice."
"Allow me to get you one," said Mr. Brown.
Before she could protest, the second officer had disappeared in the direction of the saloon, where an elaborate supper was laid out.
Mrs. Stuart turned to her protégée:
"Grace, you've made a tremendous hit to-night. Your pearls look magnificent. All the women are raving about them."