on, to hold our own, won't
we? I've been making Lydia promise to reserve me three dances at every
single ball this winter, and I think I'm heroic not to insist on
more--but her first season--!"

Lydia said, with her pretty, light laugh, a little shaking now, "But
suppose you're out of town, setting up some new dynamo or something and
your three dances come along?"

Paul crossed the room to her, as if drawn irresistibly by the sound of
her voice. He stood by her, looking down into her eyes (he was very
tall), bending over her, smiling, pressing, confident, masterful.
"You're to sit out those three dances and think of me, and think of
me--of course! I shall be thinking of you."

Lydia's little tremulous air of archness dropped under this point-blank
rejoinder. She flushed, and looked at her father. That unimaginative
person started toward her as though she had called to him for help, and
then, ashamed of his inexplicable impulse, turned away confusedly and
disappeared into the hall.

Paul took this movement as a frank statement of the older man's desire
to be, for the moment, rid of him. "Oh, I _am_ going, Judge," he called
after him, unabashed; "it is just a bit hard to tear myself away--I've
been waiting so long for her to get back!" To Lydia he went on, "I've
grown thin and pale waiting for you, while you--look at yourself, you
heartless little witch!"

He pointed across to a tall mirror in which they were reflected against
the rich background of his roses. For a moment both the beautiful young
creatures looked each into his own eyes, mysterious with youth's total
ignorance of its own meaning. Paul took Lydia's hand in his, and pointed
again to their reflections as they stood side by side. He tried to
speak, but for once his ready tongue was silent. Judge Emery came back
to the door, a weary patience on his white, tired face.

The young man turned away with a sigh and a smile. "Yes, yes, Judge, I'm
off. Good-night, Lydia. Don't forget the theater Wednesday night."

He crossed the room with a rapid, even step, shook hands with the Judge,
and got himself out of the room with an easy briskness which the older
man, mindful of his own rustic youth, was half-inclined to envy.

After he and Lydia were left alone he did not venture a word of comment,
lest he hit on the wrong thing. He went silently about, putting out the
lights, and locking the windows. Lydia stood where Paul had left her,
looking at her bright image