wann. Apparently he did not notice Lorna, and was absorbed in the
dance with his own partner, Helen Wrapp. This byplay further excited
Lane's curiosity. On the whole, it was an ungraceful, violent mob,
almost totally lacking in restraint, whirling, kicking, swaying,
clasping, instinctively physical, crude, vulgar and wild. Down the
line of chairs from his position, Lane saw the chaperones of the Prom,
no doubt mothers of some of these girls. Lane wondered at them with
sincere and persistent amaze. If they were respectable, and had even
a slight degree of intelligence, how could they look on at this dance
with complacence? Perhaps after all the young people were not wholly
to blame for an abnormal expression of instinctive action.

That dance had its several encores and finally ended.

Margaret and Holt made their way up to Lane and Blair. The girl was
now radiant. It took no second glance for Lane to see how matters
stood with her at that moment.

"Say, beat it, you two," suddenly spoke up Blair. "There comes Swann.
He's looking for you. Chase yourselves, now, Marg--Holt. Leave that
slacker to _us_!"

Margaret gave a start, a gasp. She looked hard at her brother. Blair
wore a cool smile, underneath which there was sterner hidden meaning.
Then Margaret looked at Lane with slow, deep blush, making her really
beautiful.

"Margie, we're for you two, strong," said Lane, with a smile. "Go hide
from Swann."

"But I--I came with him," she faltered.

"Then let him find you--in other words, let him _get_ you.... 'All's
fair in love and war.'"

Lane had his reward in the sweet amaze and confusion of her face, as
she turned away. Holt rushed her off amid the straggling couples.

"Dare, you're a wiz," declared Blair. "Margie's strong for Holt--I'm
glad. If we could only put Swann out of the running."

"It's a cinch," returned Lane, with sudden heat.

"Pard, you don't know my mother. If she has picked out Swann for
Margie--all I've got to say is--good night!"

"Even if we prove Swann----"

"No matter what we prove," interrupted Blair. "No matter what, so long
as he's out of jail. My mother is money mad. She'd sell Margie to the
devil himself for gold, position--the means to queen it over these
other mothers of girls."

"Blair, you're--you're a little off your nut, aren't you?"

"Not on your life. That talk four years ago might have been
irrational. But now--not on your life.... The world has come to an
end.... Oh,