E-text prepared by Robert Cicconetti, Melissa Er-Raqabi,
and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
()
To the Beloved Memory
of
Little Betty
The heavy perfume of rare blossoms, the wild strains of mad music, thepatter of flying feet, the murmur of speech, the ring of laughter,filled the great hall. Now and again a pair of dancers, peculiarlygraceful and particularly daring, held the center of the floor for amoment while the room rang with applause.
Into alcoves, screened and flower-decked, couples wandered. In thedancing-space hands were clasped, bosoms rose and fell, hearts throbbed,pulses beat, and moving bodies kept time to rhythmic sound.
Suddenly the music stopped, the conversation ceased, the laughter diedaway. Almost, as it were, poised in the air, the dancers stood amazed.One looked to another in surprise. Something stole throughout the roomwhich was neither music, nor lights, nor fragrance, but which waslife—a presence!
"Do you see that child?" asked the wildest of the dancers of her escort.