CHAPTER II.
In the full glare of the dazzling footlights of social life, we are blinded to the softer, purer rays that proceed from the "holy of holies" within our hearts.
John Hastings' Fifth Avenue mansion was ablaze with light. He had cautioned his servants, smilingly,
"Don't let one electric bulb be forgotten in any nook of our home to-night. There must be an abundance of brightness!"
The servants promised gaily, and went about their several duties with a delight, not only the result of high wages and exceptional treatment, but because each one individually loved Venna with a respectful adoration.
The long reception rooms were one garden of palms and roses.
As Venna stood by the side of her aunt, under a canopy of green, her silvered white dress sparkling as she moved, her beauty was never so enchanced. So thought her social friends, as one by one they approached to shake hands and congratulate the radiant debutante.
The hidden orchestra, screened by palms, played dreamy music while Venna beamed happy and smiled upon her delighted guests.
"Was I ever so happy?" she asked herself joyously.
There were several men who lingered unnecessarily over their congratulations, and with each occurrence Venna laughed to herself.