He was waiting--waiting for the outcome of the quarrel--and in a moment it came.

Anita Richmond turned swiftly, her dark eyes ablaze, her pretty lips set and firm.
She looked anxiously about her, sighted Fairchild, and then started toward him, while he advanced to meet her.
"I 've reconsidered," was her brief announcement.

"I 'll dance the next one with you." "And the next after that ?" Again: "Selfish!" But Fairchild did not appear to hear.
"And the next and the next and the next!" he urged as the caller issued his inevitable invitations for couples.

Anita smiled.
"Maybe--I 'll think about it." "I 'll never know how to dance, unless you teach me." Fairchild pleaded, as they made their way to the center of the floor.

"I 'll--" "Don't work on my sympathies!" "But it's the truth.