nly knew the Desmonds
slightly and was always overwhelmed in their presence, developed a
sudden and acute fit of shyness and implored to be allowed to refuse.

"If it had been the Browns' or Lawrences' I'd have loved it," she urged,
"but you know, Mumsie, how Mrs. Desmond absolutely withers me up! I
never can say six words when she's there. I'd run five miles to avoid
meeting her: you know I would! She's so starchy."

"You see very little of your hostess at a dance. Don't be silly,
Queenie!" insisted Mrs. Saxon. "I say you're to go, so there's an end of
it."

"I'll go for an evening's martyrdom, then, not for enjoyment!" wailed
her daughter dolefully.

A first grown-up dance is often a terrible ordeal to a girl of eighteen,
and Quenrede, though she had put on a few airs to impress the
schoolgirls at the Rainbow League sale, was at bottom woefully bashful.
She was still in the stage when her newly-turned-up hair looked as if it
were unaccustomed to be coiled round her head; she had a painful habit
of blushing, and had not yet acquired that general _savoir faire_ which
comes to us with the passing of our teens. To be plunged for a whole
evening into the society of a succession of strangers seemed to her
anything but an exhilarating prospect.

"If I could just dance with our own boys!" she sighed.

"I'd pity you if you did!" declared Ingred, pausing in an effort to make
Athelstane's steps more worthy of a ball-room. "Why, half the fun will
be your different partners. I only wish I'd your chance and was 'coming
out' too!"

"I'm sure you're welcome to go instead of me," proclaimed Quenrede
petulantly.

All the same she watched the preparations for the event with
considerable girlish interest. Mother, whose ambitions at first had run
to a dress from town, regretfully decided that the family finances could
only supply a home-made costume, and set to work with fashion book and
sewing-machine to act amateur dressmaker, a thrilling experience to
unaccustomed fingers, for paper patterns are sometimes difficult to
understand, seams do not fit together as they ought, and the bottom hem
of a skirt is the most awkward thing in the world to make hang perfectly
straight. Quenrede, standing on the table, revolved slowly while Mrs.
Saxon and Ingred stuck in pins and debated whether a quarter of an inch
here and there should be raised or lowered. Ingred showed far more
cleverness in sewing than her sister; her natty fingers could