in the year 1918, put up placards renewing the ancient
Mesopotamian custom, under the guise of a community privilege and a
civic duty.

And yet some people pretend to differentiate between fashions and
morals!

But nobody at this dance was foolish enough to philosophize. Everybody
was out for a good time, and a Scotsman from the British embassy came
up to claim Lady Clifton-Wyatt's hand and body for the next dance.
Davidge had been mystically attuned anew to Mamise, and he found her
in a mood for reconciliation. She liked him so well that when the
Italian aviator to whom she had pledged the "Tickle Toe" came to
demand it, she perjured herself calmly and eloped with Davidge. And
Davidge, instead of being alarmed by her easy morals, was completely
reassured.

But he found her unready with another perjury when he abruptly asked
her:

"What are you doing to-morrow?"

"Let me see," she temporized in a flutter, thinking of Baltimore and
Nicky.

"If you've nothing special on, how about a tea-dance? I'm getting
addicted to this."

"I'm afraid I'm booked up for to-morrow," she faltered. "Polly keeps
the calendar. Yes, I know we have some stupid date--I can't think just
what. How about the day after?"

The deferment made his amorous heart sick, and to-morrow's to-morrow
seemed as remote as Judgment Day. Besides, as he explained:

"I've got to go back to the shipyard to-morrow evening. Couldn't you
give me a lunch--an early one at twelve-thirty?"

"Yes, I could do that. In fact, I'd love it!"

"And me too?"

"That would be telling."

At this delicious moment an insolent cub in boots and spurs cut in and
would not be denied. Davidge was tempted to use his fists, but Mamise,
though she longed to tarry with Davidge, knew the value of tantalism,
and consented to the abduction. For revenge Davidge took up with Polly
and danced after Mamise, to be near her. He followed so close that
the disastrous cub, in a sudden pirouette, contrived to swipe Polly
across the shin and ankle-bones with his spur.

She almost swooned of agony, and clung to Davidge for support, mixing
astonishing profanity with her smothered groans. The cub showered
apologies on her, and reviled "Regulations" which compelled him to
wear spurs with his boots, though he had only a desk job.

Polly smiled at him murderously, and said it was nothing. But Mamise
saw her distress, rid herself of the hapless criminal and gave Polly
her arm, as she limped th