Passing from the Dutch dining-room, with its blue tile,
and old pewter, he paused in the doorway of the drawing-room where the
dancing had already begun. His glance, taking in everything from the
gilded fluting of the panels to the bronze heads on the upright lines
of the marble mantels, rested at last upon an object which evidently
gave his critical taste complete satisfaction.
A young girl had paused near him and was eagerly watching the dancers.
She presented a harmony in green and gold, from her shining hair
caught in a loose coil low on her neck, to her small gold slippers
that tapped time to the music. The clinging gown of pale green that
fell in loose lines from her shoulders was veiled in deep-toned lace,
revealing her round white throat and long shapely arms, bare from
shoulder to finger tips. Horton smiled unconsciously as he watched her
eager, responsive face, and felt the suppressed vitality in every
movement of her slender body.
"Who is she?" he asked of Cropsie Decker, who stood near.
"Who's who?"
"That radiant young thing in green. She doesn't belong in a ballroom,
she belongs in a forest with ivy leaves in her hair.
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