Everywhere the floors were stained with the crushed forms of butterflies. The wonderful flashing creatures had darted through the rooms at first with swift whirling circling wings. But in the hot fetid air one by one they had fallen to the floor crushed into shapeless masses. Hundreds of them had clung to the leaves of the lilacs, roses and ferns until they dropped exhausted. Some of them still hung in long graceful swaying streamers of dazzling colour from the ceilings.
The doctor pointed to them.
"Look, dear, their poor little hearts are counting the seconds that yet separate them from the mangled bodies of their mates on the floor. So the hearts of millions of people have been crushed out for the sport of this evening. It's a funny world, isn't it?"
Harriet looked up quickly into his face with puzzled inquiry.
"Why, Papa, I never heard you talk so strangely. What's the matter?"
The father laughed in the best of spirits.
"Only the fancy of a moment, child. I never felt better. Did you have a good time?"
The girl's face grew serious as she drew on her wrap and glanced back toward the great doorway of the ball room.
"Yes, when I could forget the pain in my heart."
She paused and seized his arm with sudden energy.