the great, wide-open main door of the barn had
somewhat thinned out and in the few groups that still remained there he
had suddenly recognised Mr. and Mrs. Tree and Hilma, making their way
towards some empty seats near the entrance of the feed room.

In the dusky light of the barn earlier in the evening, Annixter had not
been able to see Hilma plainly. Now, however, as she passed before his
eyes in the glittering radiance of the lamps and lanterns, he caught
his breath in astonishment. Never had she appeared more beautiful in his
eyes. It did not seem possible that this was the same girl whom he saw
every day in and around the ranch house and dairy, the girl of simple
calico frocks and plain shirt waists, who brought him his dinner, who
made up his bed. Now he could not take his eyes from her. Hilma, for
the first time, was wearing her hair done high upon her head. The thick,
sweet-smelling masses, bitumen brown in the shadows, corruscated like
golden filaments in the light. Her organdie frock was long, longer than
any she had yet worn. It left a little of her neck and breast bare and
all of her arm.

Annixter muttered an exclamation. Such arms! How did she manage to
keep them hid on ordinary occasions. Big at the shoulder, tapering with
delicious modulations to the elbow and wrist, overlaid with a delicate,
gleaming lustre. As often as she turned her head the movement sent
a slow undulation over her neck and shoulders, the pale amber-tinted
shadows under her chin, coming and going over the creamy whiteness of
the skin like the changing moire of silk. The pretty rose colour of
her cheek had deepened to a pale carnation. Annixter, his hands clasped
behind him, stood watching.

In a few moments Hilma was surrounded by a group of young men,
clamouring for dances. They came from all corners of the barn, leaving
the other girls precipitately, almost rudely. There could be little
doubt as to who was to be the belle of the occasion. Hilma's little
triumph was immediate, complete. Annixter could hear her voice from time
to time, its usual velvety huskiness vibrating to a note of exuberant
gayety.

All at once the orchestra swung off into a march--the Grand March. There
was a great rush to secure "partners." Young Vacca, still going the
rounds, was pushed to one side. The gayly apparelled clerk from the
Bonneville store lost his head in the confusion. He could not find
his "partner." He roamed wildly about the barn, bewilder