th Lester, and
see that she considered her very nice, perhaps, but not of Lester's
class. She was saying to herself now no doubt as she danced with
Lester that he needed some one like her. He needed some one who had
been raised in the atmosphere of the things to which he had been
accustomed. He couldn't very well expect to find in her, Jennie, the
familiarity with, the appreciation of the niceties to, which he had
always been accustomed. She understood what they were. Her mind had
awakened rapidly to details of furniture, clothing, arrangement,
decorations, manner, forms, customs, but--she was not to the
manner born.

If she went away Lester would return to his old world, the world of
the attractive, well-bred, clever woman who now hung upon his arm. The
tears came into Jennie's eyes; she wished, for the moment, that she
might die. It would be better so. Meanwhile Lester was dancing with
Mrs. Gerald, or sitting out between the waltzes talking over old
times, old places, and old friends. As he looked at Letty he marveled
at her youth and beauty. She was more developed than formerly, but
still as slender and shapely as Diana. She had strength, too, in this
smooth body of hers, and her black eyes were liquid and lusterful.

"I swear, Letty," he said impulsively, "you're really more
beautiful than ever. You're exquisite. You've grown younger instead of
older."

"You think so?" she smiled, looking up into his face.

"You know I do, or I wouldn't say so. I'm not much on
philandering."

"Oh, Lester, you bear, can't you allow a woman just a little
coyness? Don't you know we all love to sip our praise, and not be
compelled to swallow it in one great mouthful?"

"What's the point?" he asked. "What did I say?"

"Oh, nothing. You're such a bear. You're such a big, determined,
straightforward boy. But never mind. I like you. That's enough, isn't
it?"

"It surely is," he said.

They strolled into the garden as the music ceased, and he squeezed
her arm softly. He couldn't help it; she made him feel as if he owned
her. She wanted him to feel that way. She said to herself, as they sat
looking at the lanterns in the gardens, that if ever he were free, and
would come to her, she would take him. She was almost ready to take
him anyhow--only he probably wouldn't. He was so straight-laced,
so considerate. He wouldn't, like so many other men she knew, do a
mean thing. He couldn't. Finally Lester rose and excused himself. He
and