his figure faintly defined.

"I am afraid I am still too far away. Lean over a bit, Becky--and I'll
hand it to you."

She stretched her white arm down into the darkness. Her hand was
caught in a strong clasp. "Becky, give me just five minutes by the
fountain."

"Let me go."

"Not until you promise that you'll come."

"I shall never promise."

"Then I shall keep your fan----"

"Keep it--I have others."

"But you will think about this one, because I have it." There was a
note of triumph in his soft laugh.

He kissed her finger-tips and reluctantly released her hand. "The fan
is mine, then, until you ask for it."

"I shall never ask."

"Who knows? Some day you may--who knows?" and he was gone.

He could not have chosen a better way in which to fire her imagination.
His voice in the dark, his laughing triumph, the daring theft of her
fan. Her heart followed him, seeing him a Conqueror even in this,
seeing him a robber with his rose-colored booty, a Robin Hood of the
Garden, a Dick Turpin among the tuberoses.

The spirit of Romance went with him. The things that Pride had done
for her looked gray and dull. She had promised to marry Randy, and
felt that she faced a somewhat sober future. Set against it was all
that George had given her, the sparkle and dash and color of his ardent
pursuit.

He was not worth a thought, yet she thought of him. She was still
thinking of him when Randy came back.

"Did you get your fan?" he asked.

"No. Never mind, Randy. I will have one of the servants look for it."

"But I do mind."

She hesitated. "Well, don't look for it now. Let's go in and join the
others. Are they going down to supper?"

Supper was served in the great Hunt Room, which was below the ballroom.
It was a historic and picturesque place, and had been the scene for
over a century of merry-making before and after the fox-hunts for which
the county was famous. There were two great fireplaces, almost hidden
to-night by the heaped-up fruits of the harvest, orange and red and
green, with cornstalks and goldenrod from the fields for decorations.

Becky found Mary alone at a small table in a corner. Truxton had left
her to forage for refreshments and Randy followed him.

"Are you having a good time, Mary?"

Mary did not answer at once. Then she said, bravely, "I don't quite
fit in, Becky. I am still an--outsider."

"Oh, Mary!"

"I am not--unhappy, and Truxton is such a dear. But I s