r, then."

"And have somebody come over and pick her up to dance with, from under
my very nose? No, thanks! This is a dance, man; and the lassies are
here to dance. It would be ill of me to deprive her of all the fun she
wants.

"You can dance, Phil? I know you can by the way you've been beating
your feet every time the band plays. Go on, man!"

"I could dance, once," said Phil, "but----"

"Once! Spirit of my great-great-grandfather! You talk like Methuselah."

"I haven't danced for five years."

"Good heavens, man! This five years of yours gets on my nerves. You
must have Rip Van Winkled five years of your precious life away."

The remark bit deep; and Phil grew solemn and did not reply.

Jim looked into his face soberly, then placed his arm on Phil's
shoulder.

"Sorry, old man! I'm an indiscreet idiot. Didn't mean to be rude," he
said.

Phil smiled.

"But say," Jim urged, still bent on providing himself with some
amusement, "go to it and enjoy yourself. Go on, man;--don't be
scared!" he goaded.

Phil undoubtedly was scared, although he felt fairly sure, after that
first interview in the smithy, that Eileen Pederstone had not
recognised him. But he knew he would be running a risk. As he looked
at her across the dancing floor, as she sat there in her soft,
shimmering silks, her cheeks aglow, her eyes dancing with happiness
and her brown curls straying over her forehead--elfish-like rather
than humanly robust--he was tempted, sorely tempted indeed.

"Gee, but you're slow!" went on Jim.

"Oh, go to the devil!" Phil muttered irritably.

But Jim grinned the more; the imp in him uppermost.

"You've met her, haven't you, Phil?"

"Yes,--I spoke to her once only, in the smithy."

"Well--that's good enough for a start."

"Do you think so?"

"Sure thing! Eileen Pederstone turn you down! Man alive,--Eileen
wouldn't have the heart to turn you down if you had a wooden leg. I'll
tell you what! If she turns you down, I'll ask her for a dance myself;
and I never danced in my life."

The music was starting up. It was a good, old-fashioned waltz.
How Phil's heart beat to the rhythm of it! The men commenced to
swarm from the corridors. He took a step forward. Jim pushed him
encouragingly from behind with a "Quick, man, before somebody
else asks her up!" and he was in the stream and away with the
current. He started across, his heart drumming a tattoo on his ribs.
Half-way over the floor--and he would have turn