Already, when they reached the door, the reception was nearing its
highest tide. The rooms were bright with uniforms and with trailing
gowns, gay with the hum of voices; and the lilt of a waltz came
softly to them from across the distance. As they halted on the
threshold, Weldon lifted his eyes and suddenly found them resting
full upon Ethel Dent. The girl was quite at the farther end of the
long room, the central figure of a little throng, and wholly
unconscious of their presence. Her back was towards Weldon. He could
only see the sweep of her shimmering gown, the heavy coils of yellow
hair and the curve of one rounding cheek; yet, even in that partial
view, he felt himself astounded at her vitality. It flashed until it
dazzled him, and the dazzle hurt. He bowed to the governor and
turned away into another room, striving, as he went, to account for
the sudden depression which had fallen upon him. He had not expected
to find Ethel Dent moping alone in a corner; neither had he looked
for a radiant alertness such as he had never seen in her before.
During the long weeks of his illness, his mental picture of her had
been colored by the sadness of their last meeting.
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