last, and he was laughing--laughing at
her.

"Sure you did. As if I couldn't have broken away from a bunch of fool
kids, without being doped with the smell of kerosene, and yelled at by
another fool kid. Sure you broke the lantern. How mad I was."

"You didn't remember." It was not a joke any longer now, but a tragedy,
and Judith felt overwhelmed by it, alone in the world. "You forgot, and
I--remembered."

The brown eyes and the gray met in one last long look and when the brown
eyes saw the hurt in Judith's, the laughter died out of them. Again they
seemed to be growing nearer and nearer to hers, but this time Judith was
not afraid, she was glad.

"If you didn't save my life then, you did to-night." It came in a husky
burst of confidence, straight from his shy boy's heart, very rare and
very precious. Judith caught her breath.

"Oh, did I? Did I?"

"Yes. This crowd here had me mad--crazy mad. I was going home. I was
going to get off the team. I wasn't going to school next week, and I've
worked my hands off to get there. Maybe you remembered and I forgot,
but--I won't forget again. You were that little girl." It was not a
slight to the little girl she used to be, but a tribute to the girl she
was; that was what looked out of his brown eyes at Judith, and sang
through the brogue in his voice.

"You were that little girl--you!"

"Yes," breathed Judith; "yes!"

They whirled faster and faster. This was really the end of the dance,
and this dance could never come again. Judith held tight to his shiny
shoulder, breathless, hurrying to part with her secret and strip herself
bare of mystery generously in a breath. All sorts of barriers might come
between them, she might put them there herself, and she was quite aware
of it, but not yet, not until the music stopped.

"My name's Judith--Judith Randall. Call me Judy."

CHAPTER FIVE

Colonel Everard sat at the head of his dinner table. A little dinner for
twelve was well under way at the Birches. Mrs. Everard was confined to
her tower suite to-night with one of the sudden headaches which unkind
critics held were likely to come when the Colonel entertained. Randolph
Sebastian, his secretary, had superintended the arrangements for the
dinner.

Pink roses, rather too many of them, were massed on the big, round
table. Rather too much polished silver was to be seen on it; the most
ornate candlesticks in the Everard collection, and a too complete array
of small,