At the close of the march, and after the couples had pretty well resumed their seats, Mrs. Sherwood entered, unattended and very leisurely. She made, in her quieter manner, a greater sensation than had Mrs. Morrell. Quite self-possessed, carrying herself with her customary poise, dressed unobtrusively in black and gold, but with the distinction of an indubitable Parisian model, moving without self-consciousness in contrast to many of the other women, her small head high, her direct gaze a-smoulder with lazy amusement, she glided across the middle of the floor. The eyes of every woman in the ballroom were upon her. The "respectable" element stared shamelessly, making comments aside. Those a little déclassé, on the fringe of society, or the "faster" women like Mrs. Morrell—who might in a way be considered her rivals—were apparently quite unaware of her. She made her unhasting way to a vacant chair, sat down, and looked calmly about her.
Immediately she was surrounded by a swarm of the unattached men. The attached men became very attentive to their partners.
"Hullo," remarked Keith cheerfully. "There's Mrs. Sherwood. I must go over and say good-evening to her."
On sudden impulse Nan rose with him. She instinctively disliked her present company and the situation; and a sudden pang of conscience had told her that not once since she had left the Bella Union had she laid eyes on the woman who had received her with so much kindness.
"Take me with you," she said to Keith.
"My dear!" cried Mrs. Morrell. "You wouldn't! Take my advice—you're young and innocent!"
She sought one of those exclusive, private-joke glances at Keith, but failed to catch his eye.
"She was very kind to me when I arrived," said Nan serenely. Keith, hesitated; then his impulsive, warm-hearted loyalty spoke.
"Good for you, Nan!" he cried.
They moved away, leaving Mrs. Morrell alone, biting her lip and planning revenges.