he moment he turned away. He
found her much changed. She was not yet a woman, by a certain veil of
fragility and inconscient shyness, but the child was gone. Her glance
was more sobered and more thoughtful as though the touch of some sadness
had stolen the bubbling spirits of childhood and left a comprehension of
deeper trials approaching. At times she assumed an attitude of great
dignity, la grande maniere, which was yet but assumed and made him
smile.

Dinner over, dancing began. He made no attempt to seek out Patsie,
putting off Miss Hunter too with evasive answers. He danced once or
twice, but without enjoyment and finally, not to witness the spectacle
of her dancing with other men, made the pretext of an evening cigar to
seek the obliterating darkness of the verandah. Safely hidden in a
favoring corner, he sat, moodily watching the occasional flitting of
laughing couples silhouetted against the starry night. He was totally at
loss to account for the reception. At times a suspicion passed through
his mind that Doris might have given a different account of their
parting scene than the facts warranted. At others, remembering details
of romantic novels, he had devoured, he was willing to believe that his
letter had not reached her, had been intercepted perhaps by Mrs. Drake.
At the end of an hour, fearing to have made his absence too noticeable,
he rose unwillingly to join the gay party within. Suddenly as he rounded
the corner he came upon a couple separating, the man returning to the
dance, the girl leaning against a pillar, plucking at invisible vines.
Then she too turned, coming into a momentary reflection. It was Patsie.

She stopped short, divining who it was, and the instinctive step
backward which she made brought an angry outburst to his lips.

"I beg your pardon," he said stiffly. "I didn't mean to annoy you. I had
been finishing my smoke. I--" He paused, at his wits' end. At this
moment if he had been called upon to recognize his true feelings, he
would have sworn that he hated her bitterly with a fierce, unreasoning
hatred.

"You do not annoy me," she said quietly.

"I was afraid so."

"No."

He hesitated a moment.

"Did you get my letters?"

"Yes."

"Did you answer them?" he said, with a last hope of some possible
misunderstanding.

She shook her head.

He waited a moment for some explanation and as none came, he started to
leave, saying,

"I don't understand at all--but--I don't suppose