"I'll take you back," began Dysart, but she passed in front of him and
laid her hand on Mallett's arm.

"Won't you wait for me, Duane?"

And suddenly things seemed to be as they had been in their childhood,
the resurgence swept them both back to the old and stormy footing again.

"Duane!"

"What?"

"I tell you to wait for me--_here_!" She stamped her foot.

He scowled--but waited. She turned on Dysart:

"Good-night!"--offering her hand with decision.

Dysart began: "But I had expected----"

"_Good-night!_"

Dysart stared, took the offered hand, hesitated, started to speak,
thought better of it, made a characteristically graceful obeisance, and
an excellent exit, all things considered.

Geraldine drew a deep breath, moved forward through the flower-set
dimness a step or two, halted, and, as Mallett came up, passed her arm
through his.

"Duane," she said, "the champagne has gone to my head."

"Nonsense!"

"It _has_! My cheeks are queer--the skin fits too tight. My legs don't
belong to me--but they'll do."

She laughed and turned toward him; her feverish breath touched his
cheek.

"My first dinner! Isn't it disgraceful? But how could I know?"

"You mustn't let it scare you."

"It doesn't. I don't care. I knew something would go wrong. I--the truth
is, that I don't know how to act--how to accept my liberty. I don't know
how to use it. I'm a perfect fool.... Do you think Kathleen will notice
this? Isn't it terrible! She never dreamed I would touch any wine. Do I
look--queer?"

"No. It isn't so, anyway--and you'll simply lean on me----"

"Oh, my knees are perfectly steady. It's only that they don't seem to
belong to me. I'm--I'm excited--I've laughed too much--more than I have
ever laughed in all the years of my life put together. You don't know
what I mean, do you, Duane? But it's true; I've talked to-night more
than I ever have in any one week.... And it's gone to my head--all
this--all these people who laugh with me over nothing--follow me, tell
me I am pretty, ask me for dances, favours, beg me for a word with
them--as though I would need asking or urging!--as though my impulse is
not to open my heart to every one of them--open my arms to them--thank
them on my knees for being here--for being nice to me--all these boys
who make little circles around me--so funny, so quaint in their
formality----"

She pressed his arm tighter.

"_Let_ me rattle on--let me babble, Duane. I've years of silen