The ballroom was decorated with national and colonial flags, those of the 100th being added to do honor to the occasion; while the Vice-Regal chair was surrounded with rugs of rich and rare texture. In a tête-a-tête corner to the left of the main entrance, luxurious, long-haired, polar bear skins littered the floor; while, on the opposite side, the feet of the guests sank deep in the furs of buffalo from the west.
"What a characteristic room!" exclaimed Helen, as she stood for a moment at the wide entrance, leaning on the arm of her husband. "I never saw so many flags and beautiful skins in one room in my life."
"Nor I either. Still the setting is appropriate—the flags a token of the present war, and the skins a trophy of the huntsmen's prowess. Furs are one of the main products of the country, you know."
"I wonder if it can produce as many women?" said Helen, glancing over the Hall. "There are few but men here yet."
"All the more triumph for the women who are," was his answer, as he looked down with love into her eyes.
The Governor and Lady Sherbrooke, with Mrs. and Colonel Mason and Sir George Head, were receiving when they entered. Officers of the garrison and several from the North King were there, as well as civilians with their wives and daughters.
"May I have the honor of the opening quadrille with you?" said Colonel Mason to Helen after presenting her.
"I shall be only too happy," was her answer. But a faint flush rose to her cheek. She would prefer to have danced the opening one with her husband.
"The guests are still coming, and our dance will be soon; au revoir until then."
Harold and she passed on. More than a dozen ladies had by this time arrived—most of them young and some very pretty, with white shoulders and graceful figures. Not a few had flashing diamonds, brought by their mothers from the old land over the sea, and they sparkled like the eyes of their winsome wearers as they mingled with the men.