, that was what life was:
pain crowding elbows with pleasure always--she had read that somewhere.
She was just inevitably living Life.

Consoled a trifle by this reflection and by a certain note of sublimity
in her experience, Missy leaned against the gatepost upon which
a lantern was blinking its last shred of life, and gazed at the
slow-rising, splendid moon.

She was still there when Cousin Jim, walking quickly and his shoes
creaking loudly, returned. "Hello!" he said. "What're you doing out
here?"

"Oh, just watching the moon."

"You're a funny girl," he laughed.

"Why am I funny?" Her tone was a little wistful. "Why, moon-gazing
instead of dancing, and everything."

"But I like to dance too," emphasized Missy, as if to defend herself
against a charge.

"I'll take you up on that. Come straight in and dance the next dance
with me!"

Missy obeyed. And then she knew that she had met the Dancer of the
World. At first she was pleased that her steps fitted his so well, and
then she forgot all about steps and just floated along, on invisible
gauzy wings, unconscious of her will of direction, of his will of
direction. There was nothing in the world but invisible gauzy wings,
which were herself and Jim and the music. And they were a part of the
music and the music was a part of them. It was divine.

"Say, you can dance!" said Jim admiringly when the music stopped.

"I love to dance."

"I should say you might! You dance better than any girl I ever danced
with!"

This, from a military uniform, was praise indeed. Missy blushed and was
moved to hide her exaltation under modesty.

"I guess the reason is because I love it so much. I feel as if it's the
music dancing--not me. Do you feel it that way?" "Never thought of it
that way," answered Jim. "But I don't know but what you're right. Say,
you ARE a funny girl, aren't you?"

But Missy knew that whatever he meant by her being a "funny girl" he
didn't dislike her for it, because he rushed on: "You must let me have a
lot of dances--every one you can spare."

After that everything was rapture. All the boys liked to dance with
Missy because she was such a good dancer, and Jim kept wanting to cut
in to get an extra dance with her himself. Somehow even the sting of the
visiting girl's laugh and of Raymond's defection seemed to have subsided
into triviality. And when Raymond came up to ask for a dance she
experienced a new and pleasurable thrill in telling him she wa