of what Blair had hinted.

"Now we're out in the limelight," announced Blair, as he halted.
"Let's stand here and run the gauntlet until the next dance--then we
can find seats."

Almost at once a stream of gay couples enveloped them in passing.
Bright, flashing, vivid faces and bare shoulders, arms and breasts
appeared above the short bodices of the girls. Few of them were gowned
in white. The colors seemed too garish for anything but musical
comedy. But the freshness, the vividness of these girls seemed
exhilarating. The murmur, the merriment touched a forgotten chord in
Lane's heart. For a moment it seemed sweet to be there, once more in a
gathering where pleasure was the pursuit. It breathed of what seemed
long ago, in a past that was infinitely more precious to remember
because he had no future of hope or of ambition or dream. Something
had happened to him that now made the sensations of the moment
stingingly bitter-sweet. The freshness and fragrance, the color and
excitement, the beauty and gayety were not for him. Youth was dead. He
could never enter the lists with these young men, many no younger than
he, for the favor and smile of a girl. Resignation had not been so
difficult in the spiritual moment of realization and resolve, but to
be presented with one concrete and stunning actuality after another,
each with its mocking might-have-been, had grown to be a terrible
ordeal.

Lane looked for faces he knew. On each side of the pillar where he and
Blair stood the stream of color and gayety flowed. Helen and Margaret
Maynard went by on the far edge of that stream. Across the hall he
caught a glimpse of the flashing golden beauty of Bessy Bell. Then
near at hand he recognized Fanchon Smith, a petite, smug-faced little
brunette, with naked shoulders bulging out of a piebald gown. She
espied Lane and her face froze. Then there were familiar faces near
and far, to which Lane could not attach names.

All at once he became aware that other of his senses besides sight
were being stimulated. He had been hearing without distinguishing what
he heard. And curiously he listened, still with that strange knock of
memory at his heart. Everybody was talking, some low, some high, all
in the spirit of the hour. And in one moment he had heard that which
killed the false enchantment.

"Not a chance!..."

"Hot dog--she's some Jane!"

"Now to the clinch--"

"What'll we do till the next spiel--"

"Have a shot?----"

"Boys,