Jemima and
Jacqueline. I want to teach them all I can, while I can."

"Humph! Where's the woman's husband!"

"There never was any."

"What? My _dear_ Kate! And that's the type of woman you think will be a
good experience for your young daughters?"

"Jim, you psychologists have a stupid way of dividing people into types.
I regard them as individuals. My girls will do Mag Henderson more good
than she can do them harm," she said, with a quiet dignity which ended
discussion. "Good Heavens! What sort of dance is that?"

The dancing that is called "new" was just making its triumphal progress
westward into the homes of the land.

"That, I believe, is a highly fashionable performance called the Turkey
Trot."

"Looks it," she commented disapprovingly, even while her feet beat time
to the infectious measure.

The voice of Jacqueline rang out, "But this isn't new at all! It's just
ragging, like they do at the quarters, only not so limber. We've known
how to rag for ever so long, haven't we, Blossom? Watch us!"

She caught her sister around the waist and went strutting down the long
hall, hips and shoulders swinging, pretty feet prancing, laughing back
over her shoulder with unconscious provocation, until a delighted old
negro voice at the window cried, "Dat's de style, Miss Jack! Dat's de
way to git 'em, honey!"

With the first note of the phonograph, the entire domestic force had
transformed itself into an unseen audience.

When Philip Benoix came to the top of the Storm road, he jerked up his
horse in sheer amaze. It was a scene such as he had never expected to
find in that grim old fortress-home. Past the lighted windows couples
stepped rapidly to the titivating strains of "Trop Moutarde"; while on
the lawn outside the entire population of the quarters pranced and
capered in much the same fashion, somewhat hampered by the excited dogs.
Kate Kildare stood in the open doorway, gazing from the dancers within
to the dancers without, and laughing until she held her sides.

Philip's grave face warmed with sympathy. "It is good to see her laugh
like that. I won't tell her to-night," he thought; and would have turned
away, but that the dogs suddenly became aware of him and gave tongue.

"Heah comes Pahson to jine de high jinks!" cried the erstwhile butler,
running hospitably to take his horse. It was too late for retreat.

CHAPTER X

Kate stepped down into the porch with outstretched hands. "I am so glad
it