ughby had claimed her first. Would Mr. Turner kindly excuse
her? Just behind her came another young lady whom Mr. Tilloughby
introduced. This young lady was on Sam's card for the next dance
following this one, but it should be for the eighth dance, and would
Mr. Turner please change his card accordingly, which Mr. Turner
obligingly did, wondering what he should do when it came to the eighth
dance and he should find himself obligated to two young ladies. Oh,
well, he reflected, no doubt the other young lady was down for the
eighth dance with some one else, if they had things so mixed. Of one
thing he was sure. He had that tenth dance with Miss Stevens. He had
inspected both cards to make certain of that, and had seen with
carefully concealed joy that she had compared them as minutely as he
had. He saw confusion going on all about him, laughing young people
attempting to straighten out the tangle, and the dance was slow in
starting.

Almost the first two on the floor were Miss Stevens and Billy Westlake,
and as he saw them, from his vantage point outside one of the broad
windows, gliding gracefully up the far side of the room, he realized
with a twinge of impatience what a remarkably unskilled dancer he
himself was. Billy and Miss Stevens were talking, too, with the
greatest animation, and she was looking up at Billy as brightly, even
more brightly he thought, than she had at himself. There was a
delicate flush on her cheeks. Her lips, full and red and deliciously
curved, were parted in a smile. Confound it anyhow! What could she
find to talk about with Billy Westlake?

He was turning away in more or less impatience, when Mr. Stevens,
looking, in some way, with his aggressive, white, outstanding beard, as
if he ought to have a red ribbon diagonally across his white shirt
front, ranged beside him.

"Fine sight, isn't it?" observed Mr. Stevens.

"Yes," admitted Mr. Turner, almost shortly, and forced himself to turn
away from the following of that dazzling vision, which was almost
painful under the circumstances.

By mutual impulse they walked down the length of the side porch and
across the front porch. Sam drew himself away from dancing and certain
correlated ideas with a jerk.

"I've been wanting to talk with you, Mr. Stevens," he observed. "I
think I'll drop over to-morrow for a little while."

"Glad to have you any time, Sam," responded Mr. Stevens heartily, "but
there is no time like the present