word had thrown the poor
thing into a flurry.

They began to dance again, and, after a moment, with a gently rising
inflection, Delamater murmured, "You heard what I called you?" He
approved of the sachet that Allie used, and he became acutely conscious
of the jewels resting in the palm of his left hand. The girl was rich
and she was--different, unusual. Ever since she had learned to yield
herself to his embrace, he had been conscious of her strong physical
attraction, and now it got the better of him. "You don't care?" he
said, with his lips close to her ear.

"Humph! I'm not caring for anything or anybody to-day."

"Somebody has hurt my little girl."

Allie threw back her head and stared at him with quick suspicion. "Your
little girl?" she repeated.

It is the lot of any man in the heat of his desire to make mistakes,
and Delamater erred gravely at this moment. He kissed Allie. Without
warning he kissed her full and fair upon her red, half-open lips.

For the briefest instant of amazement the two stood motionless in the
middle of the polished floor while the phonograph brayed on; then Allie
shook herself free of her partner, and in the same movement she smote
him a mighty slap that sent him reeling. Delamater saw stars. The
constellation of Orion gleamed in dazzling splendor within his tightly
shut lids; he collided with a chair and went sprawling.

With a cry he scrambled to his feet. "What the hell--?" he growled,
savagely.

Allie's face was chalky. Breathlessly, curiously she inquired, "Wha'd
you do that for?"

"What did I _do_ it for? Say! You ought to be complimented--tickled to
death." Delamater rubbed his cheek and glared at her. "By God! I wish
you were a man. Oh, don't worry, I won't touch you again! Who the hell
would, after that?" Allie opened her lips to speak, but he ran on more
angrily as the pain bit into him. "Thought I meant it, eh? Why, you
lumbering ox--"

"Then you ain't--in love with me or--or anything?"

"_Love_?" The speaker uttered an unpleasant sound indicative of scorn.
"Wake up, sister! What d'you take me for? Why, your mother talks bird
talk, and your dad lives in a box stall and eats oats with his knife!
Here I kid you along a little bit--slip you a little kiss, as I would
any girl, and you--you--" Delamater stuttered impotently. "_Love_? I
guess I'm the first regular fellow that ever gave you a chance."

Delamater was surprised when his pupil turned her back upon him, str