pressed closer, and with a little chuckle
grasped Leslie's knee, by this affectionate touch to make herself
forgiven for the disrespect about to be shown.

"And who's Stickly-prickly?"

Leslie had to laugh, too. Impossible not to know which one was meant of
all the people in the direction of Mrs. Hawthorne's glance. He was
leaning against the wall between two chairs deserted by the fair,
looking off with a slightly mournful indifference at everything and at
nothing. His mustache ended in upturned points, his beard was pointed,
his hair stood up in little points. He gave the impression besides of
one whose nervous temper put out porcupine shafts to keep you off.

"It's one of our very best friends, Mrs. Hawthorne. Dear old Gerald! Mr.
Fane. Shall I go get him and bring him over?"

"No, don't. I should be scared of him."

"Let me! His prickles are harmless. He has heard us speak of you so
much! See, he is looking over at us wistfully, in a way that plainly
suggests our course. Here comes Charlie Hunt, who will keep you amused
while I fetch Gerald; then we will go in together and have an ice."

Charlie Hunt, modern moth without fear or shyness, but with a great deal
of caution, was indeed returning for the third or fourth time to Mrs.
Hawthorne's side, drawn by the sparkle of eyes and tresses and smiles
and diamonds. Francesca had already described him that evening to
another young lady as dancing attendance on the new American. He dropped
into the seat vacated by Leslie, addressed Mrs. Hawthorne as if they had
been friends for at least weeks, and made conversation joyfully easy by
getting at once on to a playful footing.

Leslie meanwhile steered her course toward Gerald. The music had started
up again, men were presenting themselves to maidens with their request
for the favor.... Leslie threaded her way between the first on the
floor. Her eyes were naturally turned toward the object of her search;
some intention toward him was probably apparent in her look. As if he
had not seen it, or as if, having seen it, he scented in her approach
some conspiracy against his peace, Gerald in a moment during which her
eye was not on him quietly vanished.

Missing him, Leslie looked about in some surprise, then entered the door
by which inevitably he must have passed. She gave a glance around the
library; Gerald did not seem to be there. Mystified, she looked more
carefully at the faces to be seen through the thin tobacco smoke