Mr Sinclair!" she rallied
him in her gentlest voice--and Lance was forgotten. "Come and tie an
extra big choc. on to my fishing-rod."

Roy disapproved of the chocolate figure, as derogatory to masculine
dignity. Six brief-skirted, briefer-bodiced girls stood on chairs, each
dangling a chocolate cream from a fishing-rod of bamboo and coloured
ribbon. Before them, on six cushions, knelt six men; heads tilted back,
bobbing this way and that, at the caprice of the angler; occasionally
losing balance, and half toppling over amid shouts and cheers.

How did that kind of fooling strike the '_kits_' and the Indian bandsman
up aloft, wondered Roy. A pity they never gave a thought to that side of
the picture. He determined not to be drawn in. Lance, he noticed,
studiously refrained. Miss Arden--having tantalised three aspirants--was
looking round for a fourth victim. Their eyes met--and he was done
for....

Directly his knee touched the cushion, the recoil came sharply--too
late. And she--as if aware of his reluctance--played him mercilessly,
smiling down on him with her astonishing hazel eyes....

Roy's patience and temper gave out. Tingling with mortification, he rose
and walked away, to be greeted with a volley of good-natured chaff.

He was followed by Lister, 'the R.E. boy,' who at once secured the
elusive bait, clearly by favour rather than skill. The rest had already
paired. The band struck up; and Roy, partnerless, stood looking on, the
film of the East over his face masking the clash of forces within. The
fool he was to have given way! And _this_--before them all--after
yesterday...!

His essential masculinity stood confounded; blind to the instinct of the
essential coquette--allurement by flight. He resolved to take no part in
the final figure--the mirror and handkerchief; would not even look at
her, lest she catch his eye.

Her choice fell on Hayes; and Roy--elaborately indifferent--carried
Lance off to the buffet for champagne cup. It was a thirsty evening; a
relief to be quit of the ballroom and get a breath of masculine fresh
air. The fencing-bout and its aftermath had consciously quickened his
feeling for Lance. In the fury of that fight they seemed to have worked
off the hidden friction of the past few weeks that had dimmed the steady
radiance of their friendship. It was as if a storm-cloud had burst and
the sun shone out again.

They said nothing intimate, nothing worthy of note. They were simply
conte