Katie fell in with a whole
troop of college boys who hovered around her, as both college boys and
their elders were wont to hover around Katie. She wanted to bring some of
them to Ann, but Ann demurred. "Oh no, Katie. I don't want to dance with
any strange men, please. Just our own."

Why, Katie wondered, should one not wish to dance with "strange men." It
seemed so curious a thing to shrink from. Katie herself had never felt at
all strange with "strange men." Nice fellows were nice fellows the world
over, and she never felt farther from strange than when dancing with a
nice man--strange or otherwise. Even in the swing of her gayety Katie
wondered what it was could make one feel like that. And she wondered what
Wayne must think of that plaintive little "Just our own" which she was
sure he had overheard.

Katie had come out at last to say she thought they should go. Ann must
not get too tired.

But just then the orchestra began dreaming out a waltz, one of those
waltzes lovers love to remember having danced together. "Now there," said
Wayne, "is a nice peaceful waltz. You'll have to wait, Katie," and his
arm was about Ann and they had glided away together.

Katie told her cousin she would rather not dance. "Let's stand here and
watch," she said.

Couple after couple passed by, not the crowd of the gay two-step of a few
moments before. Few were talking; some were gently humming, many
dreaming--with a veiled smile for the dream. It was one of those waltzes
to find its way back to cherished moments, flood with lovely color the
dear things held apart. Fred was saying he wished Helen were there. Katie
turned from the vivid picture out to the subtle night--warm summer's
night. The dreaming music carried her back to vanished things--other
waltzes, other warm summer's nights, to the times when she had been, in
her light-hearted fashion, in love, to those various flirtations for
which she had more tenderness than regret just for the glimpses they
brought. And suddenly the heart of things gone seemed to flow into a
great longing for that never known tenderness and wildness of feeling
that sobbed in the music. She was being borne out to the heart of the
night, and at the heart of the night some one waited for her with arms
held out. But as she was swept nearer the some one was the man who mended
the boats! With a little catch of her breath for that sorry twist of her
consciousness that must make lovely moments ludicrous ones,