he jumped in my arms as if I had stabbed her, but I took no
notice, and we danced on.

Deliberately I recounted my loss and my pursuit, only omitting my
encounter with her chauffeur.

"I happen to know," I concluded, "that the lady of the limousine is here
to-night. Before the ball is over I shall have danced with her."

"But you've never seen her," she protested.

"I know her voice."

She laughed musically.

"Aren't you a bit of an optimist?" she queried.

"I don't think so. And she's just sweet."

"But if you don't know her name, how can you hope----"

"Her name," I said, "is Dot."

The hand upon my shoulder shook slightly.

We danced on.

At length--

"That's not very much to go on," said Elizabeth.

I sighed.

"Don't discourage me," I said. "When I find her, d'you think she'll give
me the seven dances she said she would?"

"O-o-oh, I never...." She choked and began to cough violently, so that I
drew her out of the press and into a vacant corner. "I never heard of
such a thing," she continued ingeniously.

"You wicked girl," said I. "Why was Clapham Common?"

For a moment she looked at me speechless. Then she began to laugh
tremulously....

With a crash the jazz came to an end. Almost immediately another
orchestra took up the running, and the strains of a valse rose up,
plaintive and tempting.

I looked at my lady.

"Have I earned my dances, Dot?"

She hesitated. Then--

"Carry on, Carry One," she said.

CHAPTER IV

HOW NOBBY CAME TO SLEEP UPON MY BED, AND BERRY FELL AMONG THIEVES.

Thoughtfully I read the letter again.

_... It nearly breaks my heart to say so, but I've got to part with
Nobby. I'm going to India to join Richard, you know, and I'm sailing
next week. I think you'd get on together. He's a one-man dog and a bit
queer-tempered with strangers--all Sealyhams are. But he's a good little
chap--very sporting, very healthy, and a real beauty. Let me know one
way or the other, and, if you'd like to have him, I'll send him round
with his licence and pedigree._

_Yours very sincerely,_

_JOSEPHINE CHILDE._

_P.S.--He's always slept on my bed._

The letter had been forwarded to me from London, for I was spending the
week-end in Leicestershire with the Scarlets.

I looked across the flagged hall to my host, who was leaning against a
table with a hunting horn in each hand, listening critically to the
noise he was making, and endeavouring to decide upon which of th