with such a different kind
of fan--a black bony one." The fat man seemed to shudder. "And you'll
smile away like the poor old dears up there, and point to your daughter,
and tell the elderly lady next to you how some dreadful man tried to
kiss her at the club ball. And your heart will ache, ache"--the fat
man squeezed her closer still, as if he really was sorry for that
poor heart--"because no one wants to kiss you now. And you'll say how
unpleasant these polished floors are to walk on, how dangerous they are.
Eh, Mademoiselle Twinkletoes?" said the fat man softly.

Leila gave a light little laugh, but she did not feel like laughing. Was
it--could it all be true? It sounded terribly true. Was this first ball
only the beginning of her last ball, after all? At that the music seemed
to change; it sounded sad, sad; it rose upon a great sigh. Oh, how
quickly things changed! Why didn't happiness last for ever? For ever
wasn't a bit too long.

"I want to stop," she said in a breathless voice. The fat man led her to
the door.

"No," she said, "I won't go outside. I won't sit down. I'll just stand
here, thank you." She leaned against the wall, tapping with her foot,
pulling up her gloves and trying to smile. But deep inside her a little
girl threw her pinafore over her head and sobbed. Why had he spoiled it
all?

"I say, you know," said the fat man, "you mustn't take me seriously,
little lady."

"As if I should!" said Leila, tossing her small dark head and sucking
her underlip...

Again the couples paraded. The swing doors opened and shut. Now new
music was given out by the bandmaster. But Leila didn't want to dance
any more. She wanted to be home, or sitting on the veranda listening to
those baby owls. When she looked through the dark windows at the stars,
they had long beams like wings...

But presently a soft, melting, ravishing tune began, and a young man
with curly hair bowed before her. She would have to dance, out of
politeness, until she could find Meg. Very stiffly she walked into
the middle; very haughtily she put her hand on his sleeve. But in one
minute, in one turn, her feet glided, glided. The lights, the azaleas,
the dresses, the pink faces, the velvet chairs, all became one beautiful
flying wheel. And when her next partner bumped her into the fat man
and he said, "Pardon," she smiled at him more radiantly than ever. She
didn't even recognise him again.

11. THE SINGING LESSON.

With despair--c