e
rendezvous indicated.

"Geraldine was here a little while ago," said Gray, "but she walked to
the lake with Jack Dysart. My, but she's hitting it up," he added
admiringly.

"Hitting it up?" repeated Duane.

"For a girl who never does, I mean. I imagine that she's a novice with
champagne. Champagne and Geraldine make a very fetching combination, I
can tell you."

"She took no more than I," observed Naida with a shrug; "one solitary
glass. If a girl happens to be high strung and ventures to laugh a
little, some wretched man is sure to misunderstand! Bunny, you're a
gadabout!"

She made her way out from the maze of tables, Bunny following, somewhat
abashed; and Duane walked toward the shore, where dozens of lantern-hung
canoes bobbed, and the pasteboard cylinders of Bengal fire had burned
to smouldering sparks.

In the dim light he came on the people he was looking for, seated on the
rocks. Dysart, at her feet, was speaking in an undertone; Geraldine,
partly turned away from him, hands clasped around her knees, was staring
steadily across the water.

Neither rose as he came up; Dysart merely became mute; Geraldine looked
around with a start; her lips parted in a soundless, mechanical
greeting, then the flush in her cheeks brightened; and as she rose,
Dysart got onto his feet and stood silently facing the new arrival.

"I said after the third dance, you know," she observed with an assumed
lightness that did not deceive him. And, as he made no answer, he saw
the faint flicker of fright in her eyes and the lower lip quiver.

He said pleasantly, controlling his voice: "Isn't this after the third
dance? You are to be my partner for supper, I think."

"A long time after; and I've already sat at Belshazzar's feast, thank
you. I couldn't very well starve waiting for you, could I?" And she
forced a smile.

"Nevertheless, I must claim your promise," he said.

There was a silence; she stood for a moment gazing at nothing, with the
same bright, fixed smile, then turned and glanced at Dysart. The glance
was his dismissal and he knew it.

"If I must give you up," he said cheerfully, at his ease, "please
pronounce sentence."

"I am afraid you really must, Mr. Dysart."

There was another interval of constraint; then Dysart spoke. His
self-possession was admirable, his words perfectly chosen, his exit in
faultless taste.

They looked after him until he was lost to view in the throngs beyond,
then the girl slowly re