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Rh whether Beatrice was willing to see him or not he would go. Otherwise he would not have been Bill Steele.

Tonight Beatrice Corliss' whole being was pervaded by a pleasurable excitement. When had there been in any music the strong pulse which beat in her orchestra's strains tonight, when had life surged through her so eagerly, so expectantly? After the fourth dance she slipped away from the laughing, jesting couples, gathered up her fluffy skirts and ran breathless to her room. Her maid looked at her curiously.

"Quick!" commanded the girl. "Change me, BellaDella [sic]! Hurry, hurry!"

She had jerked off the tiny black mask in which until dancing began she had taken scant interest, her eyes shining, her cheeks warmly flushed. While Bella [sic] sought further and more definite instructions, Beatrice kicked off her slippers and began slipping out of her gown. "Can't you understand?" she asked of the mystified serving-girl. "You see they all knew who I was; now I am going to change to another costume and …"

But what else she planned was not for the maid's ears.

"What gown, Miss Corliss?"

Since no fingers or feet were swift enough for her save her own Beatrice ran to a big closet, threw back the lid of an old trunk, whisked out the tray and in a moment was back before Della, carrying the costume she meant to wear. And when, with Della's aid, she had dressed again here was a new mystery to slip