It is growing very late, or early; daylight will be soon looking in upon us, but the fun of the ball is at its height. Supper has made shy men bold, bold men impudent, silent men garrulous, and cheerful men harlequins; prim young women relax into hearty laughter, fast young women wax faster; admiration degenerates into flirtation, and flirtation into downright love-making; love-making, that is to say, which is born of champagne, propinquity, and opportunity—a poor imitation of the genuine article. The dowagers beam unctuously over their double chins; there is not a single wallflower left to grace the wall. Have they indeed risen and touted for partners? Several proposals are flying about, and the general appearance of everything points to the fact that time is scurrying with flying feet, and that they who would enjoy themselves must do so speedily or not at all.
How the society masks drop off the faces! How the true ring of the voice comes out, and the real expression of lips and eyes reveals itself! If a physiognomist could stand in our midst, how easily he would read the relaxed countenances of those present! Of some it is true, there is no evil or mischief to learn, but of others much. Many of the men and women here to-night bring into society faces as carefully prepared to meet the world's eye as the clothes they wear; it is not often one can get a peep at them as they really are.
We go into the supper-room, where are congregated a good many people, drinking, talking, laughing, fanning themselves, making love, and talking scandal. Scraps of conversation come fitfully to my ears. "What colour eyes do you like best?" "Blue, like yours." "My dear Mrs. Backbite, I saw the man deliberately kiss her hand, and she actually looked as though she liked it?" "Yes, first-rate action. Is it true she is scratched for the Vasher stakes?" "Yes; and entered for the Vestris." "It was Vasher who sheered off, not the Fleming." "St. John says that Vasher is mad about
