omehow to
be reckoned with. Still, Carley would not acknowledge to herself that
his simple, unsophisticated Western girl could possibly be a rival.
Carley did not need to consider the fact that she had been spoiled by
the attention of men. It was not her vanity that precluded Flo Hutter as
a rival.

Gradually the conversation drew to a lapse, and it suited Carley to
let it be so. She watched Glenn as he gazed thoughtfully into the
amber depths of the fire. What was going on in his mind? Carley's old
perplexity suddenly had rebirth. And with it came an unfamiliar fear
which she could not smother. Every moment that she sat there beside
Glenn she was realizing more and more a yearning, passionate love for
him. The unmistakable manifestation of his joy at sight of her,
the strong, almost rude expression of his love, had called to some
responsive, but hitherto unplumbed deeps of her. If it had not been
for these undeniable facts Carley would have been panic-stricken. They
reassured her, yet only made her state of mind more dissatisfied.

"Carley, do you still go in for dancing?" Glenn asked, presently, with
his thoughtful eyes turning to her.

"Of course. I like dancing, and it's about all the exercise I get," she
replied.

"Have the dances changed--again?"

"It's the music, perhaps, that changes the dancing. Jazz is becoming
popular. And about all the crowd dances now is an infinite variation of
fox-trot."

"No waltzing?"

"I don't believe I waltzed once this winter."

"Jazz? That's a sort of tinpanning, jiggly stuff, isn't it?"

"Glenn, it's the fever of the public pulse," replied Carley. "The
graceful waltz, like the stately minuet, flourished back in the days
when people rested rather than raced."

"More's the pity," said Glenn. Then after a moment, in which his gaze
returned to the fire, he inquired rather too casually, "Does Morrison
still chase after you?"

"Glenn, I'm neither old--nor married," she replied, laughing.

"No, that's true. But if you were married it wouldn't make any
difference to Morrison."

Carley could not detect bitterness or jealousy in his voice. She would
not have been averse to hearing either. She gathered from his remark,
however, that he was going to be harder than ever to understand.
What had she said or done to make him retreat within himself, aloof,
impersonal, unfamiliar? He did not impress her as loverlike. What
irony of fate was this that held her there yearning for his