The music was loud as Justin let himself into the house. The hall was deserted. Donovan, the butler, wasn't there. He made his way down the long hall to the door of the blue salon, the source of the music. His booted feet and the irritable slapping of his gloves against his thigh brought no one to question his presence.

He opened the door. What he saw stopped him in his tracks. Astonishment kept him silent; it was hard to believe his eyes. Donovan was flush-faced, his white hair in a mad tumble, the tails of his black coat flying. His portly, giggling wife was well, drunk. Every one of the thirty-odd people in the room appeared to be drunk. They were dancing wild Irish dances, with much foot-stomping and hand-clapping. A rag-tag band of minstrels played long and hard. The hand-loomed carpet was rolled up; the blue salon's elegant furnishings were pushed haphazardly into corners, leaving room for the dancers to twirl madly about the center of the oak-planked floor.

Unnoticed by everyone, Justin leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb and crossed his arms over his chest, the better to observe this foolishness. A sardonic smile played about his lips as he waited for his servants to become aware of his presence. The musicians played a fanfare; a space was cleared in the middle of the floor. A round table was pushed into that space, a beautiful Oriental table of teak with marble inlay, and a young woman was lifted to stand in its center.

"To our guest of honor!" Donovan cried, leading a round of huzzahs. The woman, slender yet shapely, laughed and bowed in response. Then, at a signal from Donovan, the musicians struck up again; the tune they played was a rollicking Irish reel.

"Give us a dance, missy!" Donovan's jovial entreaty was joined by a chorus of other voices. The woman on the table tucked the hem of her blue dress into her sash, displaying a froth of ruffled petticoats and slender, white-stocking legs. Kicking up her blue slippered heels, she complied with a gaiety that brought a glint of appreciation to Justin's eyes. Still unnoticed by all, he admired the girl's truly lovely legs, which were on view up to the lace-edged hems of her pantalets.