“But of course!” cried the guests. “Such a beautiful woman deserves everything in her honor.”

“Ah,” said the French, sounding so intimate that Camilla blushed, “quelle perfection.”

Camilla could not stop smiling. Neither could Dr. Lightner. Camilla could have swirled around the room forever, height forgotten, as she and Dr. Lightner drifted from group to group.

“What a pleasure this is,” said Dr. Lightner, as they waltzed in graceful circles. “Normally I am the outcast. The tedious scholar who writes books. Tonight, I have grace and appeal, Miss Matthews, because of your company.”

Her very height prevented even Dr. Lightner from knowing how young she was; it was a disguise in inches. She was by far the youngest at the party, but she was holding her own. She wanted the introductions to go on forever, but of course, eventually the guest of honor arrived and they must all sit down for a formal dinner.

The guest of honor was very fat, strapped into his dinner jacket and cummerbund. His jowls layered down onto his chest and his arms were so thick he could hardly bend at the elbows.

“A very rich man indeed,” said a British officer, admiring the amount of meat and brandy it took to achieve such girth.

“Excellent mustache,” said another.

The guest had a strong American accent. The British flinched slightly at his vulgar words and the French raised their eyebrows. The Germans could not be bothered to cross the room. But Dr. Lightner was most eager to meet the gentleman. “An American art collector!” he whispered. “It's very new. All the best people are doing it now. It gives one hope for America. We will bring him to the excavation.”

And then for the first time that evening, Dr. Lightner's face drooped into tired lines. “He will expect glory,” said the archaeologist sadly, “and find only potsherds. He will expect gold. I did not want to sully this lovely evening, Miss Matthews, with the sad fact of what happened this afternoon. We cannot find the gold sandal.”

Camilla was so flushed with excitement that another layer of pink in her cheeks was not noticeable. “It must have been mislaid,” she said.

“Nobody mislays gold. They do, however, steal it.”

“No!” cried Camilla. “Surely not. Who at your dig would stoop so low?” She wondered when they would search the gentlemen's tent. They might not, now that she thought of it. It would be too great an insult for young men so full of importance.

“Hush,” murmured Dr. Lightner. “Let us not speak of regrettable events during this fine occasion. Come, it is our turn to be presented to the guest of honor.”