Mona arranged her hair with great care, as she had worn it on the evening when she attended the opera with Ray, and this done she was soon ready.
She looked lovely. The black net, with its dainty white trimmings, was very becoming to her delicate complexion. The lining to the corsage had been cut low, and her pure white neck gleamed like marble through the meshes of the dusky lace. There was no lining, either, to her sleeves and her beautifully rounded arms looked like bits of exquisite sculpture. She had turned the lace away in the shape of a V at her throat, and now finished it by pinning to her corsage the cluster of white violets which she had purchased in the morning.
She regretted that she had no gloves with her suitable for the occasion, but since she was only to sit in the balcony, she thought it would not matter much if she wore none, and her small white hands, with their rose-tinted finger-tips, were by no means unsightly objects.
She was very happy and light-hearted, as she turned for one last look in her mirror before leaving her room.
She smiled involuntarily at her own loveliness, and gave a gay little nod at the charming reflection as she turned away.
Then she went out and softly down a back stair-way to avoid the crowds of people who were going up and down the front way.
But, on reaching the lower floor, she was obliged to cross the main hall and drawing-room in order to reach the pavilion, which Mr. Wellington had caused to be erected outside on the lawn for dancing, and which was connected with the house by a covered passage leading from one of the long windows of the drawing-room.
Mona stood in the doorway a moment, feeling slightly embarrassed at the thought of going unattended to search for her seat in the balcony.
Just then a round, white arm was slipped about her waist, and a gay, girlish voice cried in her ear:
"Oh, Miss Richards! how perfectly lovely you look! Are you coming to the ball?"