He was halfway across the ballroom, where the dancing had ceased for the musicians to take a well-earned rest, when Roding pounced on him. Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. It was in another world from that in which men will die for a kiss, and touching hands lights fires that burn up lives—the world of romance, the world of passionately beautiful things. "Well, I will see him," replied the knight, after a moment's pause; "he may be from the Earl of Mar. I expect you had been snubbing him terribly.
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