"But you have confided no further in me."
Miss Chressham replied sharply, almost angrily.
"Marius, you are quite unreasonable. You know that I want to speak with my lord on a matter not my own. I have a message for him, and one not easily put on paper."
"And you are unreasonable," retorted Marius gloomily, "to suppose we could ever find one in particular in this." He indicated the crowd that passed and repassed before them. Everyone was disguised in a fantastic, ridiculous, or gorgeous fashion, and everyone was masked. Of all the habits there he could only identify one—the scarlet and orange domino Lady Lyndwood had told him she would wear.
Miss Chressham sighed impatiently. She, like her cousin, wore a simple black cloak and mask.
"If I but knew what he was wearing," she said.
Marius blushed under his vizard. The Countess might know at least the colour of her husband's domino; but he would not admit to Miss Chressham that Lady Lyndwood had accompanied her invitation with a description of her dress, so he stood silent, staring resentfully at the yellow and red domino.
"I suppose they will unmask at midnight," continued Miss Chressham, "and if Rose be still here——"
From the musicians' gallery came the sound of fiddles. The great room slowly cleared; the precise and animating music of a gavotte came sharply across the laughter and talk. Four couples stood up to dance; the rest moved aside to watch them.