wants to make her
happy----"

"But _why_ is Diana so interested, Justin? There are plenty of lonely
and unhappy girls. So why should Diana especially pick out Bettina?
She's years younger than Diana, and they really haven't much in common."

"She's very sweet----" Justin was quite unaware of the intense fervor of
his tones.

Sara's eyes narrowed to little flashing points, as she asked, "Are you
in love with her?"

Their eyes met. "Oh, Sara, Sara," he teased, "do you expect me to wear
my heart upon my sleeve?"

"I expect you to keep it from wandering toward the daughter of an
Italian singer," she said, sharply. "I always fancied that you had
rather decided ideas about family, Justin."

"If you mean that I'm proud of my Knickerbocker ancestry, I am," he told
her; "just as you are proud of your Pilgrim forefathers. But Bettina
Dolce's blood is bluer than any that ran in the veins of our
middle-class English and Dutch grandsires. Her father was a Venetian,
and Bettina has the beauty of those lovely ladies of old Italy."

Sara's beauty was of an essentially modern type. "I don't see," she
said, somewhat resentfully, "why I should be expected to fight the
social battles of a girl who is really nothing to me."

"Surely not," easily, "but I rather fancy that any one who snubs Bettina
will have to reckon with Diana--and with me----"

Sara's lashes hid her sharp little eyes. She was thinking rapidly. She
did not care to offend Diana--but more, oh, much more than that, she
did not care to offend Justin.

She capitulated pensively. "Why, Justin, I don't know why you are
calling me to account in this way. I'm sure I'm perfectly willing to
help things along."

"Good," was his delighted comment, and after that he danced with a heart
as light as his heels.

When the music stopped, Duke Duffield made his way toward them. "Oh,
look here," he said to his sister; "why didn't you present me sooner to
Miss Dolce? Gee, Sara, she's some dream--and her dance card was filled
before I could get to it."

Justin smiled at this slangy confirmation of his own opinion. He drifted
presently through the room, looking for Bettina, and just as the music
began again its rhythmical beat he saw her.

Far at the other end of the room she was dancing with Anthony Blake!

Bettina had never been so happy. Anthony's coming had pleased her. He
had half promised that he might come, but there had been, as always, the
possibility in the background