ead.

"I have failed," he said shortly. "That young man is a prig!"

"I was afraid," she said, "that he would be obstinate. Men with eyes of
that color always are!"

"What are we to do, Ruth?"

"What can we?" she answered calmly. "Nothing but wait. He is going to
America. It is a terrible country for accidents. Something may happen to
him there! Do go and change your things, there's a dear, and look in at
the Westinghams' for me for an hour. We'll just get some supper and come
away."

"I will be ready in ten minutes," Barrington answered. He understood
that he was to ask no questions, nor did he. But all the time his man
was hurrying him into his clothes, his brain was busy weaving fancies.

PROFESSOR SINCLAIR'S DANCING ACADEMY

Mr. Sinclair, or as he preferred to be called, Professor Sinclair, waved
a white kid glove in the direction of the dancing hall.

"This way, ladies and gentlemen!" he announced. "A beautiful valse just
about to commence. Tickets, if you please! Ah! Glad to see you, Miss
Cullingham! You'll find--a friend of yours inside!"

There was a good deal of giggling as the girls came out from the little
dressing room and joined their waiting escorts, who stood in a line
against the wall, mostly struggling with refractory gloves. Mr.
Sinclair, proprietor of the West Islington Dancing Academy, and host of
these little gatherings--for a consideration of eighteenpence--did his
best, by a running fire of conversation, to set everyone at their ease.
He wore a somewhat rusty frock coat, black trousers, a white dress
waistcoat, and a red tie. Evening dress was not DE RIGUEUR! The money at
the door, and that everyone should behave as ladies and gentlemen, were
the only things insisted upon.

Mr. Sinclair's best smile and most correct bow was suddenly in evidence.

"Mademoiselle Violet!" he exclaimed to a lady who came in alone, "we
are enchanted. We feared that you had deserted us. There is a young
gentleman inside who is going to be made very happy. One shilling
change, thank you. Won't you step into the cloak room?"

The lady shook her head.

"If you don't mind, Mr. Sinclair," she said, "I would rather keep my hat
and veil on. I can only stay for a few minutes. Is Mr. Richardson here,
do you know? Ah! I can see him."

She stepped past the Professor into the little dancing hall. A young
lady was pounding upon a piano, a boy at her side was playing the
violin. A few couples were dancing, but