It was a picture upon which more than one eye gazed with admiration; and more than one continued to gaze.
The partner of Judith was not unworthy to embrace such beauty.
She was in the arms of a young man, a stranger to most in the room; but the glances bestowed upon him by bright eyes—some interrogative, some furtive, some openly admiring—promised him an easy introduction to any one he might fancy to know.
Not that this stranger appeared to be conceitedly conscious of the graces which nature had so lavishly bestowed upon him; or even sensible of the good fortune that had given him such a partner.
On the contrary, he was dancing with despondency in his look, and a cloud upon his brow that even the exciting whirl of the waltz was failing to dissipate!
The partner of Judith Jessuron was Herbert Vaughan.
A ball-room may be likened to a kaleidoscope: the personages are the same, their relative positions constantly changing. Design it or not, either during the dance or the interregnum—one time or another—you will find yourself face to face, or side by side, with every individual in the room.
So in the ball-room of Montego Bay came face to face two sets of waltzers—Smythje and Kate, Herbert and Judith.
The situation arose as they were resting from the dizzy whirl of a waltz.
Smythje bent profoundly towards the floor—Judith, with an imperious sweep, returned the salutation—Herbert bowed to his cousin, with a half-doubting, half-appealing glance; but the nod received in return was so slight, so distant, that even the keen-eyed Custos, closely watching every movement of the quartette, failed to perceive it!