action
of a second, then his glass went up, and he returned my greeting. I
wonder if he thought that I would cut him dead, Uncle Rod?

And don't worry about _what_ I drank. It was white grape juice. Mrs.
Nancy won't have anything stronger.

Well, after that I ate, and didn't know what I ate, for everything seemed
as dry as dust. I know my cheeks were red and that my eyes shone, and I
smiled until my face ached. And all the while I watched Jimmie and Jimmie
watched me, and pretty soon, Uncle Rod, I understood why Jimmie was
there.

He was making love to Eve Chesley!

Making love is very different from being in love, isn't it? Perhaps love
is something that Jimmie really doesn't understand. But he was using on
Eve all of the charming tricks that he had tried on me. She is more
sophisticated, and they mean less to her than to me, but I could see him
bending toward her in that flattering worshipful way of his--and when he
took one of her roses and touched it to his lips and then to her cheek,
everything was dark for a minute. That kind of kiss was the only kind
that Jimmie Ford ever gave me, but to me it had meant that he--cared--and
that I cared--and here he was doing it before the eyes of all the
world--and for love of another woman!

After supper he came around the table and spoke to me. I suppose he
thought he had to. I don't know what he said and I don't care. I only
know that I wanted to get away. I think it was then that Geoffrey Fox
guessed. For when Jimmie had gone he said, very gently, "Would you like
to go home? You look like your own little ghost, Mistress Anne."

But I had promised one more dance to Dr. Richard, and I wanted to dance
it. If you could have seen at the table how he towered above Jimmie Ford.
And when he stood up to make a little speech in response to a toast from
Dutton Ames, his voice rang out in such a--man's way. Do you remember
Jimmie Ford's falsetto?

I had my dance with him, and then Geoffrey took me home, and all the way
I kept remembering the things Dr. Richard had said to me, such pleasant
friendly things, and when his mother told me "good-night" she took my
face between her hands and kissed me. "You must come often, little
Cynthia Warfield," she said. "Richard and I both want you."

But now that I am at home again, I can't think of anything but how Jimmie
Ford has spoiled it all. When you have given something, you can't ever
really take it back, can you? When you've given faith