were to live life over on his lines. But I
won't. He doesn't want me to. He never said so, but I just know."

Vi shrugged her shoulders.

"You have a lot of sense," she said. "There's nothing women dislike
more. Good-by." She held out her hand and stepped toward him. She seemed
to misjudge the distance and half lose her balance. The full length of
her quivering body came up against Lewis. He felt her hot, sweet breath
almost on his mouth. He flushed. His arms started up from his sides and
then dropped again.

"Touch and go!" he gasped.

"Which?" drawled Vi, her mouth almost on his, her wide, gray eyes so
near that he closed his to save himself from blindness.

"Better make it 'go,'" said Lewis, and grinned.

"You've saved yourself," said Vi, with a laugh. "If you hadn't grinned,
I'd have kissed you."

CHAPTER XXIX

Lewis went to the Ruttle-Marter ball determined to be gay. He searched
for Vi, but did not find her. By twelve o'clock he had to admit that he
was more than bored, and said so to a neighbor.

"That's impossible," said the neighbor, yawning. "Boredom is an
ultimate. There's nothing beyond it; consequently, you can't be more
than bored."

"You're wrong," said Lady Derl from behind them. "For a man there's
always something beyond boredom: there's going home."

"_Touche_," cried Lewis and then suddenly straightened. While they had
been chatting, the curtain of the improvised stage at one end of the
ball-room had gone up. In the center of the stage stood a figure that
Lewis would have recognized at once even if he had not been a
participant in the secret.

The figure was that of a tall woman. Her dark hair--and there was plenty
of it--was done in the Greek style. So were her clothes, if such filmy
draperies could be justly termed clothes. They were caught up under her
breasts, and hung in airy loops to a little below her knees. They were
worn so skilfully that art did not appear. They fluttered about her
softly moving limbs, but never flew. The woman was apparently
blindfolded--with chiffon. The foamy bandage proved an efficient mask.
Chiffon and draperies were of that color known to connoisseurs as
_cuisse de nymphe_.

A buzz of interested questioning swept over the company. Mrs.
Ruttle-Marter, who had been quite abandoned for over an hour, suddenly
found herself the center of a curious and eager group.

"Who is she?" "What is she?" "Where did you get her?"

The trembling hostess, flu