tleman."

Kate drew herself up--the unreasonableness of the objection jarred
upon her. He had touched one of her tender spots--pride of birth was
something she detested.

"Don't talk nonsense, Harry," she replied in a slightly impatient voice.
Moods changed with our Kate as unexpectedly as April showers. "What
difference should it make to you or anybody else whether Langdon
Willits's grandmother was a countess or a country girl, so she was
honest and a lady?" Her head went up with a toss as she spoke, for this
was one of Kate's pet theories.

"But he's not of my class, Kate, and he shouldn't be here. I told father
so."

"Then make him one," she answered stoutly, "if only for to-night, by
being extra polite and courteous to him and never letting him feel that
he is outside of what you call 'your class.' I like Mr. Willits, and
have always liked him. He is invariably polite to me, and he can be very
kind and sympathetic at times. Listen! they are calling us, and there
goes the music--come along, darling--it's a schottische and we'll dance
it together."

Harry sprang up, slipped his arm around Kate's waist, lifted her to her
feet, held her close, and kissed her squarely on the mouth.

"There, you darling! and another one--two--three! Oh, you precious! What
do I care about Willits or any other red-headed lower county man that
ever lived? He can have fifty grandmothers if he pleases and I won't say
a word--kiss me--kiss me again. Quick now or we'll lose the dance," and,
utterly oblivious as to whether any one had seen them or not, the two
raced down the wide stairs.

CHAPTER IV

While all this gayety was going on in the ballroom another and equally
joyous gathering was besieging the serving tables in the colonel's
private den--a room leading out of the larger supper room, where he kept
his guns and shooting togs, and which had been pressed into service for
this one night.

These thirsty gentlemen were of all ages and tastes, from the young
men just entering society to the few wrinkled bald-pates whose legs
had given out and who, therefore, preferred the colonel's Madeira and
terrapin to the lighter pleasures of the dance.

In and out of the groups, his ruddy, handsome face radiant with the joy
that welled up in his heart, moved St. George Temple. Never had he been
in finer form or feather--never had he looked so well--(not all the
clothes that Poole of London cut came to Moorlands). Something of the
s