the only parlor in Joralemon that was called a library, and
the only one with a fireplace or a polished hardwood floor. Grandeur
was in the red lambrequins over the doors and windows; the bead
portiere; a hand-painted coal-scuttle; small, round paintings of
flowers set in black velvet; an enormous black-walnut bookcase with
fully a hundred volumes; and the two lamps of green-mottled shades and
wrought-iron frames, set on pyrographed leather skins brought from New
York by Gertie. The light was courtly on the polished floor. Adelaide
Benner--a new Adelaide, in chiffon over yellow satin, and
patent-leather slippers--grinned at him and ruthlessly towed him into
the tide of dancers. In the spell of society no one seemed to remember
Eddie Klemm. Adelaide did not mention the incident.

Carl found himself bumping into others, continually apologizing to
Adelaide and the rest--and not caring. For he saw a vision! Each time
he turned toward the south end of the room he beheld Gertie Cowles
glorified.

She was out of ankle-length dresses! She looked her impressive
eighteen, in a foaming long white mull that showed her soft throat. A
red rose was in her brown hair. She reclined in a big chair of leather
and oak and smiled her gentlest, especially when Carl bobbed his head
to her.

He had always taken her as a matter of course; she had no age, no sex,
no wonder. That afternoon she had been a negligible bit of Joralemon,
to be accused of snobbery toward Eddie Klemm, and always to be watched
suspiciously lest she "spring some New York airs on us."... Gertie had
craftily seemed unchanged after her New York enlightenment till
now--here she was, suddenly grown-up and beautiful, haloed with a
peculiar magic, which distinguished her from all the rest of the
world.

"She's the one that would ride in that horseless carriage when I got
it!" Carl exulted. "That must be a train, that thing she's got on."

After the dance he disposed of Adelaide Benner as though she were only
a sister. He hung over the back of Gertie's chair and urged: "I was
awful sorry to hear you were sick.... Say, you look wonderful,
to-night."

"I'm so glad you could come to my party. Oh, I must speak to you
about----Do you suppose you would ever get very, very angry at poor
me? Me so bad sometimes."

He cut an awkward little caper to show his aplomb, and assured her, "I
guess probably I'll kill you some time, all right."

"No, listen, Carl; I'm dreadfully serious