ntarily
with another woman in the room, nor left her side
a moment that he could help. It looks as though
he were pretty hard hit, doesn't it?"

Garnett was right; for after the episode with Jim
Byrd's flowers, Thorne had thrown self-control to
the winds. He danced with Pocahontas as
frequently as she would allow him, hovered constantly
in her vicinity, and only lost sight of her when
dragged off by his aunt for duty dances. Twice
during the evening--and only twice--did he leave her
voluntarily, and then it was to dance with Norma,
whose suspicions he did not wish to arouse. The
instinct of rivalry had overthrown all restraint and
for this evening he was madly determined to let
things take their course. They were here, he and
his family, in Jim Byrd's place; living in the
house that had been his, entertaining the friends
that had been his, in the very rooms that so short
a time ago had echoed to his footsteps and
resounded with his laugh. He had been thrust
aside, and must continue to stand aside; the past
had been his, let him keep out of the present;
let him beware how he marred the future.
And for the bond that held himself, Thorne had
forgotten all about it. In his passion and
excitement it was a thing without existence.

Later in the evening, there came a gleam of
brightness for little Blanche; a blissful hour which
indemnified her for the boredom so unflinchingly
endured. As Norma only did what pleased her,
most of the drudgery of entertaining fell upon
Blanche, whose grievous portion it was to attend
to the comfort of dowagers; to find partners for
luckless damsels unable to find them for
themselves, and to encourage and bring out bashful
youths. As the latter considered that the true
expression of their gratitude lay in devoting
themselves exclusively and eternally to their
pretty little preceptress, Blanche had lately come
to hold this part of her duty a wearisome affliction.

She was seated on a tiny sofa surrounded by a
band of uneasy and enamored youths ranging in
age from sixteen to twenty, when Mason caught
sight of her pretty, fatigued, but resolutely
courteous face, and came instantly to her rescue. He
was very fond of Blanche, and teased and petted
her with almost cousinly freedom. He felt
himself a middle-aged man beside her, and admired
her sweet face, and gentle unselfishness as
unreservedly as he would have done those of a child.
Moving her draperies aside with a kindly,