in overcoat pockets in the
coat room, made old weariness wait until another day. The stag line is
a most homogeneous mass of men. It fairly sways with a single soul. A
dark-haired beauty dances by and there is a half-gasping sound as the
ripple surges forward and some one sleeker than the rest darts out and
cuts in. Then when the six-foot girl (brought by Kaye in your class, and
to whom he has been trying to introduce you all evening) gallops by,
the line surges back and the groups face about and become intent on far
corners of the hall, for Kaye, anxious and perspiring, appears elbowing
through the crowd in search of familiar faces.

"I say, old man, I've got an awfully nice--"

"Sorry, Kaye, but I'm set for this one. I've got to cut in on a fella."

"Well, the next one?"

"What--ah--er--I swear I've got to go cut in--look me up when she's got
a dance free."

It delighted Amory when Isabelle suggested that they leave for a while
and drive around in her car. For a delicious hour that passed too soon
they glided the silent roads about Princeton and talked from the surface
of their hearts in shy excitement. Amory felt strangely ingenuous and
made no attempt to kiss her.

Next day they rode up through the Jersey country, had luncheon in New
York, and in the afternoon went to see a problem play at which Isabelle
wept all through the second act, rather to Amory's embarrassment--though
it filled him with tenderness to watch her. He was tempted to lean over
and kiss away her tears, and she slipped her hand into his under cover
of darkness to be pressed softly.

Then at six they arrived at the Borges' summer place on Long Island, and
Amory rushed up-stairs to change into a dinner coat. As he put in his
studs he realized that he was enjoying life as he would probably never
enjoy it again. Everything was hallowed by the haze of his own youth. He
had arrived, abreast of the best in his generation at Princeton. He was
in love and his love was returned. Turning on all the lights, he looked
at himself in the mirror, trying to find in his own face the qualities
that made him see clearer than the great crowd of people, that made him
decide firmly, and able to influence and follow his own will. There was
little in his life now that he would have changed. ... Oxford might have
been a bigger field.

Silently he admired himself. How conveniently well he looked, and how
well a dinner coat became him. He stepped into the hall and t