't believe you know what jealousy
means: you don't even understand hate; you don't eat your
heart----"

"Let's go and eat something better," suggested Richard, laughing.
"There's a continuous supper downstairs and I hear it's very
good."

Ray smiled, rescued for a second from himself. "There isn't
anything better than your heart, you old window-pane, and I'm glad
you don't eat it. And if I ever mix it up with Don Giovanni T.
Corliss--`T' stands for Toreador--I do believe it'll be partly on
your----" He paused, leaving the sentence unfinished, as his
attention was caught by the abysmal attitude of a figure in
another part of the gallery: Mr. Wade Trumble, alone in a corner,
sitting upon the small of his small back, munching at an unlighted
cigar and otherwise manifesting a biting gloom. Ray drew Lindley's
attention to this tableau of pain. "Here's a three of us!" he
said. He turned to look down into the rhythmic kaleidoscope of
dancers. "And there goes the girl we all _ought_ to be morbid
about."

"Who is that?"

"Laura Madison. Why aren't we? What a self-respecting creature she
is, with that cool, sweet steadiness of hers--she's like a
mountain lake. She's lovely and she plays like an angel, but so
far as anybody's ever thinking about her is concerned she might
almost as well not exist. Yet she's really beautiful to-night, if
you can manage to think of her except as a sort of retinue for
Cora."

"She _is_ rather beautiful to-night. Laura's always a very
nice-looking girl," said Richard, and with the advent of an idea,
he added: "I think one reason she isn't more conspicuous and
thought about is that she is so quiet," and, upon his companion's
greeting this inspiration with a burst of laughter, "Yes, that was
a brilliant deduction," he said; "but I do think she's about the
quietest person I ever knew. I've noticed there are times when
she'll scarcely speak at all for half an hour, or even more."

"You're not precisely noisy yourself," said Ray. "Have you danced
with her this evening?"

"Why, no," returned the other, in a tone which showed this
omission to be a discovery; "not yet. I must, of course."

"Yes, she's really `rather' beautiful. Also, she dances `rather'
better than any other girl in town. Go and perform your painful
duty."

"Perhaps I'd better," said Richard thoughtfully, not perceiving
the satire. "At any rate, I'll ask her for the next."

He found it unengaged. There came to Laura's face an