ng her lack of warmth and not understanding the cause.

"Oh, I'm all out of breath--if you don't mind," she continued evasively;
"we'll wait for the next one." She dared not invite him to sit down,
knowing it would make Harry furious--and then again she couldn't stand
one discordant note to-night--she was too blissfully happy.

"But the next one is mine," exclaimed Harry suddenly, examining his own
dancing-card. He had not shifted his position a hair's breadth, nor did
he intend to--although he had been outwardly polite to the intruder.

"Yes--they'd all be yours, Harry, if you had your way," this in a thin,
dry tone--"but you mustn't forget that Miss Kate's free, white, and
twenty-one, and can do as she pleases."

Harry's lips straightened. He did not like Willits's manner and he was
somewhat shocked at his expression; it seemed to smack more of the
cabin than of the boudoir--especially the boudoir of a princess like his
precious Kate. He noticed, too, that the young man's face was flushed
and his utterance unusually rapid, and he knew what had caused it.

"They will be just what Miss Seymour wants them to be, Willits." The
words came in hard, gritting tones through half-closed lips, and the
tightening of his throat muscles. This phase of the Rutter blood was
dangerous.

Kate was startled. Harry must not lose his self-control. There must be
no misunderstandings on this the happiest night of her life.

"Yes," she said sweetly, with a gracious bend of her head--"but I do
want to dance with Mr. Willits, only I don't know which one to give
him."

"Then give me the Virginia reel, Miss Kate, the one that comes just
before supper, and we can go all in together--you too, Harry," Willits
insisted eagerly. "See, Miss Kate--your card is still empty," and he
turned toward her the face of the one hanging to her wrist.

"No, never the reel, Kate, that is mine!" burst out Harry determinedly,
as a final dismissal to Willits. He lowered his voice, and in a
beseeching tone said--"Father's set his heart on our dancing the reel
together--please don't give him the reel!"

Kate, intent on restoring harmony, arched her neck coyly, and said in
her most bewitching tones--the notes of a robin after a shower: "Well,
I can't tell yet, Mr. Willits, but you shall have one or the other; just
leave it to me--either the reel or the schottische. We will talk it over
when I come down."

"Then it's the reel, Miss Kate, is it not?" he cried, i