hat to you at the Crystal Room..."

She stopped, and a shadow fell on her face and a little tremble ran
across her lips.

Smoking a cigarette on the veranda young Oldershaw waited for the dance
to end. It was encored several times but being a sportsman and having
achieved a monopoly of Joan during all the previous dances, he let this
man enjoy his turn. He was a great friend of hers, she had said on the
way to the club, and was, without doubt, a very perfect person with his
wide-set eyes and well-groomed head, his smooth moustache and the cleft
on his chin. He didn't like him. He had decided that at a first glance.
He was too supercilious and self-assured and had a way of looking clean
through men's heads. He conveyed the impression of having bought the
earth,--and Joan. A pity he was too old for a year or two of Yale. That
would make him a bit more of a man.

When presently the Jazzers paused in order to recuperate,--every one of
them deserving first aid for the wounded,--and Joan came out for a
little air with Palgrave, Harry strolled up. This was his evening, and
in a perfectly nice way he conveyed that impression by his manner. He
was, moreover, quite determined to give nothing more away. He conveyed
that, also.

"Shall we sit on the other side?" he asked. "The breeze off the sea
keeps the mosquitoes away a bit."

Refusing to acknowledge his existence Palgrave guided Joan towards a
vacant chair. He went on with what he had been saying and swung the
chair round.

Joan was smiling again.

Oldershaw squared his jaw. "I advise against this side, Joan," he said.
"Let me take you round."

He earned a quick amused look and a half shrug of white shoulders from
Joan. Palgrave continued to talk in a low confidential voice. He
regarded Oldershaw's remarks as no more of an interruption than the
chorus of the frogs. Oldershaw's blood began to boil, and he had a
queer prickly sensation at the back of his neck. Whoo, but there'd have
to be a pretty good shine in a minute, he said to himself. This man
Palgrave must be taught.

He marched up to Joan and held out his arm. "We may as well get back,"
he said. "The band's going to begin again."

But Joan sat down, looking from one man to the other. All the woman in
her revelled in this rivalry,--all that made her long-dead sisters
crowd to the arenas, wave to armored knights in deadly combat, lean
forward in grand stands to watch the Titanic struggles of Army and
Navy, Yal