the old
wonder: "What sort of a Judith would he see to-night?"

He found it difficult to form any picture of her here, among these gay,
inconsequent merry-makers. Judith to him spelled a girl upon a horse,
booted, spurred, with a scarf about her neck fluttering wildly behind
her as she rode, the superb, splendid figure of a girl of the
out-of-doors, alive with the hot pioneer blood which had been her rich
inheritance, a sort of wonderful boy-girl. Remove her flapping hat,
her boots, and spurs and riding-suit, and what was left of Judith?

Outside were half a dozen of the boys who had not mustered courage to
set foot on the polished floors, Carson and Tommy Burkitt among them.
Tommy stared at Bud Lee and his jaw dropped in amazement. Carson took
swift stock of such clothes as he had never suspected a good horse
foreman owned, and gasped faintly:

"The damn . . . lady-killer!"

But Lee had neither eyes nor thoughts for them, nor remembrance of his
own change from working garb to that of polite society. The dance came
to a lingering end, the couples throughout the big rooms strolled up
and down, clapping their hands softly or vehemently as their natures or
degree of enthusiasm dictated, and Lee forgot Marcia and sought eagerly
for a glimpse of Judith.

Refused a second encore, the couples stood about chatting, the hum of
lively voices bespeaking eager enjoyment. There was no early chill
upon the assembly, to be dissipated as the dance wore on; the day of
festivity outdoors had thawed the thin crust of icy strangeness which
is so natural a part of such a function as this. Already it seemed
that everybody was on the most cheerful terms with everybody else.

Suddenly Lee's eyes, still seeking Judith, found Marcia. Surrounded by
a little knot of men, each of them plainly seeking to become her happy
partner for the next dance, adorably helpless as usual, Miss Langworthy
was allowing the men to fight it out among themselves. Lee moved a
little nearer to see her better. In a pale-blue gown, fluffy as a
summer cloud, her cheeks delicately flushed, a white rose like a
snowdrop in the gold of her hair, she was flutteringly happy, reminding
him of those little meadow blues that had flown palpitatingly about him
that day in the fields. And she was obviously as much at her ease
here, in an atmosphere of music and flattery, as the tiny butterflies
in their own meadows.

Bud Lee came in, his tall form conspicuous, and