ave you been, Duane?"

"How did you know me?" he said, laughing; "you haven't even looked at me
yet."

"On peut voir sans regarder, Monsieur. Nous autres demoiselles, nous
voyons tres bien, tres bien ... et nous ne regardons jamais."

[Illustration: "She dropped him a very low, very slow, very marvellous
courtesy"]

She had paused, still not looking directly at him. Then she lifted her
head.

"Everybody has asked me to dance; I've said yes to everybody, but I've
waited for you," she said. "It will be that way all my life, I think."

"It has been that way with me, too," he said gaily. "Why should we wait
any more?"

"Why are you so late?" she asked. She had missed Rosalie, too, but did
not say so.

"I am rather late," he admitted carelessly; "can you give me this
dance?"

She stepped nearer, turning her shoulder to the anxious lingerers, who
involuntarily stepped back, leaving a cleared space around them.

"Make me your very best bow," she whispered, "and take me. I've promised
a dozen men, but it doesn't matter."

He said in a low voice, "You darling!" and made her a very wonderful
bow, and she dropped him a very low, very slow, very marvellous
courtesy, and, rising, laid her fingers on his embroidered sleeve. Then
turning, head held erect, and with a certain sweet insolence in the
droop of her white lids, she looked at the men around her.

Gray said in a low voice to Dysart: "That's as much as to admit that
they're engaged, isn't it? When a girl doesn't give a hoot what she does
to other men, she's nailed, isn't she?"

Dysart did not answer; Rosalie, passing on Grandcourt's arm, caught the
words and turned swiftly, looking over her shoulder at Geraldine.

But Geraldine and Duane had already forgotten the outer world; around
them the music swelled; laughter and voice grew indistinct, receding,
blending in the vague tumult of violins. They gazed upon each other
with vast content.

"As a matter of fact," said Duane, "I don't remember very well how to
dance a minuet. I only wanted to be with you. We'll sit it out if you're
afraid I'll make a holy show of you."

"Oh, dear," said Geraldine in pretty distress, "and I let you beguile me
when I'm dying to do this minuet. Duane, you _must_ try to remember!
_Everybody_ will be watching us." And as her quick ear caught the
preliminary bars of the ancient and stately measure:

"It's the Menuet d'Exaudet," she said hurriedly; "listen, I'll instruct
you as we m