ay. No one would
dare----"

Here Freddy at the piano struck up "Mary" and further conversation was
drowned in commotion. Mildred Delaplane was preempted by Mr. Gittings
and Peggy came whirling alone toward Peter, arms extended, the passion
for the dance outweighing other prejudices.

Peter took a turn, but four years of war had done little to improve his
steps.

"I'm afraid all my dancing is in my fingers," he muttered.

Suddenly, as Freddy Mordaunt paused, Peggy stopped and lowered her arms.

"Good Lord!" she gasped. "What's the matter with Pop?"

McGuire had risen unsteadily and was peering out into the darkness
through the window opposite him, his face pallid, his lips drawn into a
thin line. Peggy ran to him and caught him by the arm.

"What is it, Pop? Are you sick?"

"N-no matter. Just a bit upset. If you don't mind, daughter, I think
I'll be going up."

"Can I do anything?"

"No. Stay here and enjoy yourselves. Just tell Stryker, will you,
Nichols, and then come up to my room."

Peggy was regarding him anxiously as he made his way to the door and
intercepted Peter as he went to look for the valet.

"What is it, Mr. Nichols?" she asked. "He may be sick, but it seems to
me----" she paused, and then, "Did you see his eyes as he looked out of
the window?"

"Indigestion," said Peter coolly.

"You'll see after him, won't you? And if he wants me, just call over."

"I'm sure he won't want you. A few home remedies----"

And Peter went through the door. Stryker had appeared mysteriously from
somewhere and had already preceded his master up the stair. When Peter
reached the landing, McGuire was standing alone in the dark, leaning
against the wall, his gaze on the lighted bedroom which, the valet was
carefully examining.

"What is it, sir?" asked Peter coolly. "You thought you saw something?"

"Yes--out there--on the side portico----"

"You must be mistaken--unless it was one of the watchmen----"

"No, no. I saw----"

"What, sir?"

"No matter. Do you think Peggy noticed?"

"Just that you didn't seem quite yourself----"

"But not that I seemed--er----"

"Alarmed? I said you weren't well."

Peter took the frightened man's arm and helped him into his room.

"I'm not, Nichols," he groaned. "I'm not myself."

"I wouldn't worry, sir. I'd say it was physically impossible for any one
to approach the house without permission. But I'll go down and have
another look around."

"Do, Nichols. But com