One more couple, lady an' a gent! One more--" "Please!" Robert Fairchild had reached her and was holding forth his hand.

She looked up in half surprise, then demurred.
"But I don't know these old dances." "Neither do I--or any other, for that matter," he confessed with sudden boldness.

"But does that make any difference?
Please!" She glanced quickly toward the door.

Maurice Rodaine was still talking, and Fairchild saw a little gleam come into her eyes,--the gleam that shows when a woman decides to make some one pay for rudeness.

Again he begged: "Won't you--and then we 'll forget.