[CHAPTER XXXIV.]
Irene was playing a waltz now—something as gay and joyous as her song had been sweet and pensive. Guy Kenmore touched Mrs. Leslie's arm.
"Let us go on the balcony. The moonlight is so beautiful," he said.
They went, and though Irene did not turn her head she knew that they had left the room, and her heart sank unaccountably. But she went on playing with tireless fingers, and the gay, sweet music floated deliciously out on the balcony where the young man was saying in a low voice to his companion:
"I must confess to an almost feminine curiosity regarding your promised story of your beautiful protege."
"You wish to hear it now?" said the lady, smilingly.
"Yes," he admitted, frankly.
"After all there is little to tell," she replied. "I know actually nothing of her except that she is a beautiful, fascinating mystery."
"A mystery—how?" he asked.