to prevent it. As a consequence he
felt himself circumvented at every move, without being able to say to
himself that it had been done deliberately. The others who perhaps
perceived his intention sought an instinctive distance, with that innate
sympathy which goes out to lovers, but Patsie with a foreseeing eye
called young Stoughton to her side and pretending a slightly wrenched
ankle, leaned heavily on his arm. In which fashion they regained the
house without Bojo having been able by hook or crook to have gained a
moment for a private word.

At dinner, where he had hoped that Skeeter Stoughton, in return for his
half confidence, would have arranged so that he should sit next to her,
he found Patsie on the opposite side of the table. An accusatory glance
towards Skeeter was answered by one of mystification. Then he understood
that she must have rearranged the cards herself. He was unskilled in the
knowledge of the ways of young girls and their instinctive cruelty to
those who love them and even those whom they themselves love. He was
hurt, embarrassed, prey to idiotic suppositions that left him miserable
and self-conscious. He was even ready to believe that she had taken the
others into her confidence, that every one must be watching, smiling
behind their correct masks. The dinner seemed interminable. He was too
wretched to conceal his emotions, neglecting his neighbors shamefully
until one, a debutante of the year, rallied him maliciously.

"Mr. Crocker, I believe you're in love!"

He glanced at Patsie, frightened lest the remark might have carried, but
from her attitude he could divine nothing. She was rattling away,
answering some lightly flung remark from down the table. He began to
talk desperately in idiotic, meaningless sentences, aware that his
neighbor was watching him with a mischievous smile.

"Are you really in love?" she said delightedly when he had run out of
ideas.

He was struck by a sudden inspiration.

"If I confess will you help me?" he said in a whisper. Miss Hunter,
enraptured with the idea of anything that bordered on the romantic,
bobbed her head in enthusiastic response.

"Very well, after dinner," he said in the same low tone. He had a
feeling that Patsie had been trying to listen and began to talk with a
gaiety for which he found no reason in himself. Several times he glanced
across the table and he felt--though their eyes never met--that her
glance had but just left him, was on him t