nter upon the
sideboard and disappear shaking from the apartment. But never before
have I seen his self-control crumple as a ripped balloon.

For a second he stared at the speaker.

Then he flung us one desperate, appealing glance, emitted a short wail,
and, looking exactly as if he was about to burst into tears, clapped
both hands to his mouth and made a rush for the door.

As he reached it, a little Dutch Jill danced into the room, looking
adorable.

Use holds.

Falcon straightened his back, stepped to one side, and bowed his
apologies. The temporary check, however, was his undoing. As Jill
flashed by, he turned his face to the wall and sobbed like a child....

When Daphne made her appearance, amazingly beautiful as 'Jehane
Saint-Pol,' we climbed into the cars and slipped down the sober drive
into the fragrant dalliance of an April night.

* * * * *

The ball was over.

It would have been a success any way, but from the moment that Berry
had, upon arrival, been directed to the ladies' cloak-room, its
enduring fame had been assured.

When, with my wife and sister, reluctant and protesting, upon either
arm, he erupted into the ballroom, giggling excitedly and crying "Votes
for Women!" in a shrill treble, even the band broke down, so that the
music died an untimely and tuneless death. When he danced a Tango with
me, wearing throughout an exalted expression of ineffable bliss and
introducing a bewildering variety of unexpected halts, crouchings and
saggings of the knees--when, in the midst of an interval, he came
flying to Daphne, calling her "Mother," insisting that he had been
insulted, demanding to be taken home forthwith, and finally burying his
face in her shoulder and bursting into tears--when, during supper, with
a becoming diffidence, he took his stand upon a chair and said a few
words about his nursing experiences in Mesopotamia and spoke with
emotion of the happy hours he had spent as a Sergeant-Minor of the
Women Police--then it became manifest that my brother-in-law's
construction of the laws of hospitality had set up such a new record of
generosity as few, if any, of those present would ever see broken.

"... Oh, and the flies, you know. The way they flew. Oh, it was
dreadful. And, of course, no lipstick would stick. My dears, I was
simply terrified to look in the biscuit box. And then we had to wash
in bits--so embarrassing. Talk about divisional reserve....