on account of it. He decided that he
preferred dancing, and said he guessed he must be better.

So they danced again--and again.

When the fourteenth dance came, about half an hour before midnight, they
were still dancing together.

It was upon the conclusion of this fourteenth dance that Mr. Parcher
mentioned to his wife a change in his feelings toward William. "I've
been watching him," said Mr. Parcher, "and I never saw true misery show
plainer. He's having a really horrible time. By George! I hate him, but
I've begun to feel kind of sorry for him! Can't you trot up somebody
else, so he can get away from that fat girl?"

Mrs. Parcher shook her head in a discouraged way. "I've tried, and I've
tried, and I've tried!" she said.

"Well, try again."

"I can't now." She waved her hand toward the rear of the house. Round
the corner marched a short procession of negroes, bearing trays; and
the dancers were dispersing themselves to chairs upon the lawn "for
refreshments."

"Well, do something," Mr. Parcher urged. "We don't want to find him in
the cistern in the morning!"

Mrs. Parcher looked thoughtful, then brightened. "_I_ know!" she said.
"I'll make May and Lola and their partners come sit in this little
circle of chairs here, and then I'll go and bring Willie and Miss Boke
to sit with them. I'll give Willie the seat at Lola's left. You keep the
chairs."

Straightway she sped upon her kindly errand. It proved successful, so
successful, indeed, that without the slightest effort--without even a
hint on her part--she brought not only William and his constant friend
to sit in the circle with Miss Pratt, Miss Parcher and their escorts,
but Mr. Bullitt, Mr. Watson, Mr. Banks, and three other young gentlemen
as well. Nevertheless, Mrs. Parcher managed to carry out her plan,
and after a little display of firmness, saw William satisfactorily
established in the chair at Miss Pratt's left.

At last, at last, he sat beside the fairy-like creature, and filled
his lungs with infinitesimal particles of violet scent. More: he was no
sooner seated than the little blonde head bent close to his; the golden
net brushed his cheek. She whispered:

"No'ty ickle boy Batster! Lola's last night, an' ickle boy Batster
fluttin'! Flut all night wif dray bid dirl!"

William made no reply.

There are occasions, infrequent, of course, when even a bachelor is not
flattered by being accused of flirting. William's feelings toward Miss
Boke