id Daren say?" demanded Margaret, with eyes lighting.

"I was standing with Helen, and Fanchon when Daren came up. He
looked--I don't know how--just wonderful. We all knew something was
doing. Daren bowed to Fanchon and said to her in a perfectly clear
voice that everybody heard: 'I'd like to try your camel-walk. I'm out
of practice and not strong, but I can go once around, I'm sure. Will
you?'"

'You're on, Dare,' replied Fanchon.

Then he asked. 'Do you like it?'

'I'll say so, Dare--crazy about it.'

'Of course you know why it's danced--and how it's interpreted by
men,' said Daren.

'What do you mean?' asked Fanchon, growing red and flustered.

"Then Daren said: 'I'll tell your mother. If she lets you dance with
that understanding--all right.' He bent over Mrs. Smith and said
something. Mrs. Wrapp heard it. And so did Mrs. Mackay, who looked
pretty sick. Mrs. Smith nearly _fainted_!... but she recovered enough
to order Daren to leave."

"Do you know what Daren said?" demanded Margaret, in a frenzy of
excitement.

"No. None of the girls know. We can only imagine. That makes it worse.
If Fanchon knows she won't tell. But it is gossip all over town. We'll
hear it soon. All the girls in town are imagining. It's spread like
wildfire. And what _do_ you think, Margie? In church--on
Sunday--Doctor Wallace spoke of it. He mentioned no names. But he said
that as the indecent dress and obscene dance of the young women could
no longer be influenced by the home or the church it was well that one
young man had the daring to fling the truth into the faces of their
mothers."

"Oh, it was rotten of Daren," replied Margaret, with tears in her
eyes. She was ashamed, indignant, incredulous. "For him to do a thing
like that! He's always been the very prince of gentlemen. What on
earth possessed him? Heaven knows the dances are vile, but that
doesn't excuse Daren Lane. What do I care what Doctor Wallace said?
Never in a thousand years will Mrs. Smith or mother or any one forgive
him. Fanchon Smith is a little snob. I always hated her. She's
spiteful and catty. She's a flirt all the way. She would dance any old
thing. But that's not the point. Daren's disgraced himself. It was
rotten--of him. And--I'll never--forgive--him, either."

"Don't cry, Margie," said Elinor. "It always makes your eyes red and
gives you a headache. Poor Daren made a blunder. But some of us will
stick to him. Don't take it so badly."

"Margie, it was