the shouted and clapped applause.

"Do it again, miss," a man's voice sounded from back in the hall. She
tried to find him, to smile at him--that was more of Fanny's teaching.
But Daddy Brown allowed no encores, it was only for a minute that she
stood there, bowing and smiling, in her ridiculously short, flounced
skirt and baby bodice, then the rest of the chorus moved out to take
their places, and she vanished into the side wings again.

From the moment of her entry till the last flutter of her skirts as she
ran off, Dick sat as if mesmerized, leaning slightly forward, his hands
clenched. Every movement of her body had stabbed, as it were, at his
heart. He had not heard the call of the music, he could not guess at the
spirit that was awake in her, he only saw the abandon--of which Daddy
Brown was so proud--the painted face, the smiles which came and went so
gaily at the shouted applause. Common-sense might not kill love, but
this! The knowledge that even this could not kill love was what clenched
his hands.

At the end of the first act Swetenham leant across and asked if he was
coming out for a drink. It may have been that the younger man had
noticed Dick's intense interest in the dancer, or perhaps it was merely
because he wished to air a familiarity which struck him as delightfully
bold, anyway, as they strolled about outside he put a suggestion to
Dick.

"If you can arrange to stay on after the show," he said, "and would
care to, I could take you round and introduce you to those two girls,
the one who dances and Miss Bellairs."

"Miss Bellairs," Dick repeated stupidly, his mind was grappling with a
far bigger problem than young Swetenham could guess at.

"Yes," the other answered, "I met her last time she was down here, and
the other is a great pal of hers."

He looked sideways at his companion as they went in under the lights; it
occurred to him that Grant was either in a bad temper or had a headache,
he looked anyway not in the least jovial. Swetenham almost regretted his
rash invitation.

"Thank you," Dick was saying, speaking almost mechanically, "I should
like to come very much. It doesn't in the least matter about getting
home."

Swetenham glanced at him again. "If it comes to that," he said, "I have
a motor-bike I could run you in on."

The fellow, it suddenly dawned on him, had gone clean off his head about
one of the girls. Swetenham could understand and sympathize with him in
that.

Dick m