up a "Serpentine" of gay tinsel,
and with a falsetto shout of "Play!" flung it across the supper-room.

Somebody there seemed to have a stock of the things. Lord Fourcastles
was pelted back with them. Presently the brilliant strings of colour
were looped right across food, and flowers, and diners in a gaudy, giant
web. I saw the Honourable Jim's merry face break through it as he caught
at a scarlet streamer and pretended to use it as a lariat.

Then I saw him turn and take Lord Fourcastles by the arm and draw him
towards his own table. Evidently he was going to introduce this young
peer to Miss Million.

I caught a glimpse of Million's excited little face, all aglow, turned
towards the door through which I was peeping. If I'd gone a step nearer
she might have seen me. I could have beckoned to her, made her come out
to see what the matter was. Then I could have insisted that it was time
for her to come home, or something ... something!

I believe I might have made her come!

Oh, why didn't I try to do this?

Why, why didn't I do it before it was too late?

As the two neighbouring supper parties amalgamated into one the fun
seemed to get even more fast and furious.

It was deafeningly noisy now. And still the noise was rising as more
guests came in. People flung themselves about in their chairs; the
dancing became, if anything, more of a romp than before.

I had a glimpse of the eyeglassed, young Lord Fourcastles stretching
over the table to grab some pink flowers out of a silver bowl. He began
sticking them in Miss Million's hair; I saw her toss her little dark
head back, giggling wildly; I could imagine the shrill "Ows" and "Give
overs" that were coming out of her pink "O" of a mouth.

Then I saw Mr. Burke spring up from his chair again, and put his arm
round Miss Vi Vassity's waist, dragging "London's Love" round the tables
in a mad prance that I suppose was intended for a one-step, she laughing
so much that she could neither dance nor stand still, and giving a
generous display of high-heeled, gilt cothurne and of old-gold silk
stocking as she was steered and whirled along.

"Stand away from the door, there, Miss. Stand away, please," said one of
the hurrying waiters. And I stood away, followed by my grave-faced
escort, Mr. Brace. We retired further down the vestibule, among the
little knot of attendants and of waiting chauffeurs.

"Have you seen enough of it, Miss Lovelace?" asked Mr. Brace.

"I think s