his own power," she said, nodding her dainty head suggestively.

"Shall I tell him?" teased Phil.

"No!--let him find that out for himself. He will enjoy it all the more
when he does. Some day, I hope, the right young lady will wake him up.
Then maybe he won't be 'Wayward' Langford any more.

"I have heard them call you 'Silent' Ralston."

Her remark startled Phil. In the first place, he fancied the nick-name
that had been given him was known merely by the rougher element about
town, and it sounded strangely coming from her. Again, that was the
name they had given him in Ukalla, and it created an uncanny feeling
in him that it, of all nick-names, should again fasten to him.

"But you aren't really so silent,--are you now?"

"No!--I can hold my own in the field of conversation. It is just a
foolish name some one tagged on, one day, for lack of brains to think
of anything more apt;--and it has stuck to me ever since, as such
things have a habit of doing."

"'Wayward' Langford and 'Silent' Ralston!" She turned the words on her
tongue reflectively. "What a peculiar combination!"

Phil laughed, but refused to be drawn further.

"Are you as wayward as he?" she asked.

Phil did not answer.

"Are you?" she asked again.

"Jim and I are chums," he answered.

"Which means----?"

"'Birds of a feather----'"

How long they would have chatted on, Phil had no notion, for the
lights, the music, the gliding dancers, the gaiety and the intoxicating
presence of Eileen Pederstone had him in their thrall. However, he
was interrupted by the stout but agile figure of Graham Brenchfield
weaving in and out among the dancers and coming their way.

He stopped up in front of them, giving Phil a careless nod. He held
out his bent arm to Miss Pederstone.

"This is ours, I think, Eileen," he said. "Sorry I was late. Excuse
us, Ralston!"

Phil gasped and looked over to Miss Pederstone.

"No, siree!" answered the young lady, quite calmly and naturally. "I
have promised this dance to Mr. Ralston, and was just resting a
little bit before starting out."

"Pshaw!--Ralston doesn't dance," he bantered. "This is a dandy
waltz,--come!"

"But you _do_ dance, Mr. Ralston?" she put in.

"Of course I do!" said Phil, springing up. And, in a moment, they
sailed away from him whose very presence tainted the atmosphere for
Ralston.

A backward glance showed Brenchfield glooming after them, the fingers
of one hand fumbling with the pendant