and some he had known before, encountered him
face to face, and cut him dead. He heard sarcastic remarks. He was an
outsider, a "dead one," a "has been" and a "lemon." But Margaret was
gracious to him, and Flossie Dickerson made no bones of her regard.
Dorothy, he was relieved and glad to see, was not present.

Lane had no particular object in mind. He just wanted to rub elbows
with this throng of young people. This was the joy of life he had
imagined he had missed while in France. How much vain longing! He had
missed nothing. He had boundlessly gained.

Out on this floor a railing ran round the curve of the stairway. Girls
were sitting on it, smoking cigarettes, and kicking their slipper-shod
feet. Their partners were lounging close. Lane passed by, and walking
to a window in the shadow he stood there. Presently one of the boys
threw away his cigarette and said: "Come on, Ironsides. I gotta dance.
You're a rotten dancer, but I love you."

They ran back into the hall. The young fellow who was left indolently
attempted to kiss his partner, who blew smoke in his face. Then at a
louder blast of jazz they bounced away. The next moment a third couple
appeared, probably from another door down the hall. They did not
observe Lane. The girl was slim, dainty, gorgeously arrayed, and her
keen, fair face bore traces of paint wet by perspiration. Her
companion was Captain Vane Thesel, in citizen's garb, well-built,
ruddy-faced, with tiny curled moustache.

"Hurry, kid," he said, breathlessly, as he pulled at her. "We'll run
down and take a spin."

"Spiffy! But let's wait till after the next," she replied. "It's
Harold's and I came with him."

"Tell him it was up to him to find you."

"But he might get wise to a car ride."

"He'd do the same. Come on," returned Thesel, who all the time was
leading her down the stairway step by step.

They disappeared. From the open window Lane saw them go down the
street and get into a car and ride away. He glanced at his watch,
muttering. "This is a new stunt for dances. I just wonder." He
watched, broodingly and sombrely. It was not his sister, but it might
just as well have been. Two dances and a long intermission ended
before Lane saw the big auto return. He watched the couple get out,
and hurry up, to disappear at the entrance. Then Lane changed his
position, and stood directly at the head of the stairway under the
light. He had no interest in Captain Vane Thesel. He just wanted to
g