During the next few days that followed, handsome Royal Ainsley saw as much of the Three Graces as was possible. One day he was content with a bow or a smile—on the next, a few words in passing; but he was wise enough to keep out of the way whenever their relatives were about.
[CHAPTER III.]
The fancy-dress masquerade cycle carnival had been the talk of fashionable circles in Newport for the last fortnight, and now, as the auspicious evening drew near, excitement was almost at fever heat.
The tickets of admission had been closely guarded; gold could not buy them. The tickets, which were strictly not transferable, had been duly delivered by messengers to the different members whose names they bore, and the promoters of the affair felt duly satisfied that no one outside the charmed circle of Newport's fashionable Four Hundred could by any possibility invade the sacred precincts.
A whole army of officers were to guard against intruders. There was to be a banquet in the supper-room at midnight, after the masks of the merry cyclers had been removed, that would be so startling in its sumptuousness that the whole country would be talking about it, and those who had been fortunate enough to attend would never forget it in their after lives.
Philip Ravenswood had indeed done his utmost to secure the admittance of his friend; but even he had failed signally. The officers were inexorable in their polite but firm refusal to his request.
Two hours later the grand masquerade cycle carnival was at its height. The marble walls of the millionaire club never held a more brilliant gathering of ladies fair, with eyes behind silken masks brighter than the diamonds they wore, and men braver than the famous knights of old in their powdered wigs, satin knee-breeches and spangled waistcoats.