ish voices crying out to her to
live!

Her childhood's playmate had come back a stranger, but already he was
being transformed, through the magic of laughter, into the boy she
remembered; awkwardness of readjusting her relations with him had
entirely vanished; she called him dear Duane, laughed at him, chatted
with him, appealed, contradicted, rebuked, tyrannised, until the young
fellow was clean swept off his feet.

Then Dysart came, and for the second time the note of coquetry was
struck, clearly, unmistakably, through the tension of a moment's
preliminary silence; and Duane, dumb, furious, yielded her only when she
took Dysart's arm with a finality that became almost insolent as she
turned and looked back at her childhood's comrade, who followed,
scowling at Dysart's graceful back.

Confused by his hurt and his anger, which seemed out of all logical
proportion to the cause of it, he turned abruptly and collided with
Grandcourt, who had edged up that far, waiting for the opportunity of
which Dysart, as usual, robbed him.

Grandcourt apologised, muttering something about Mrs. Severn wishing him
to find Miss Seagrave. He stood, awkwardly, looking after Geraldine and
Dysart, but not offering to follow them.

"Lot of debutantes here--the whole year's output," he said vaguely.
"What a noisy supper-room--eh, Mallett? I'm rather afraid champagne is
responsible for some of it."

Duane started forward, halted.

"Did you say Mrs. Severn wants Miss Seagrave?"

"Y--yes.... I'd better go and tell her, hadn't I?"

He flushed heavily, but made no movement to follow Geraldine and Dysart,
who had now entered the conservatory and disappeared.

For a full minute, uncomfortably silent, the two men stood side by side;
then Duane said in a constrained voice:

"I'll speak to Miss Seagrave, if you'll find her brother and Mrs.
Severn"; and walked slowly toward the palm-set rotunda.

When he found them--and he found them easily, for Geraldine's
overexcited laughter warned and guided him--Dysart, her fan in his
hands, looked up at Duane intensely annoyed, and the young girl tossed
away a half-destroyed rose and glanced up, the laughter dying out from
lips and eyes.

"Kathleen sent for you," said Duane drily.

"I'll come in a minute, Duane."

"In a moment," repeated Dysart insolently, and turned his back.

The colour surged into Mallett's face; he turned sharply on his heel.

"Wait!" said Geraldine; "Duane--do you hear me?"