nroy twice
already--he ought to be more considerate than to bring the girl into
notice that way--a chump like Charlie Conroy, what would he understand
of such a nature as Johnnie Consadine's? Before he fully realized his
own intentions, he had paused in front of the two and was speaking.

"I think Miss Johnnie promised me a dance this evening. I'll have to go
back to the office in twenty minutes, and--I hate to interrupt you, but
I guess I'll have to claim my own."

He became suddenly aware that Conroy was signalling him across Johnnie's
unconscious head with Masonic twistings of the features. Stoddard met
these recklessly inconsiderate grimacings with an impassive stare, then
looked away.

"I want to see you before you go," the man from Watauga remarked, as he
reluctantly resigned his partner. "Don't you forget that there's a waltz
coming to me, Miss Johnnie. I'm going to have it, if we make the band
play special for us alone."

Lydia Sessions, passing on the arm of young Baker, glanced at Johnnie,
star-eyed, pink-cheeked and smiling, with a pair of tall cavaliers
contending for her favours, and sucked her lips in to that thin, sharp
line of reprobation Johnnie knew so well. Dismissing her escort
graciously, she hurried to the little supper room and found another
member of the committee.

"Come here, Mrs. Hexter. Just look at that, will you?" She called
attention in a carefully suppressed, but fairly tragic tone, to Stoddard
and Johnnie dancing together, the only couple on the floor. "None of the
girls know how to waltz. I am not sure that it would be suitable if they
did. When I came past, just now, there were two of the men--two--talking
to John Consadine, and they were all three laughing. I can't think how
it is that girls of that sort manage to stir things up so and get all
the men around them."

"Neither can I," said Mrs. Hexter wickedly. "If I did know how, I
believe I'd do it sometimes myself. What is it you want of me, Miss
Sessions? I must run back and see to supper, if you don't need me."

"But I do," fretted Lydia. "I want your help. This waltzing and--and
such things--ought to be stopped."

"All right," rejoined practical Mrs. Hexter. "The quickest way to do it
is to stop the music."

She had meant the speech as a jeer, but literal-minded Lydia Sessions
welcomed its suggestion. Hurrying down the long room, she spoke to the
leader of their small orchestra. The Negro raised to her a brown face
ful