s already
engaged. That thrill disturbed her a little. Was it possible that she
was vindictive, wicked? But when she saw Jim approaching while Raymond
was receiving his conge, she thrilled again, simultaneously wondering
whether she was, after all, but a heartless coquette.

Jim had just been dancing with the visiting girl, so she asked: "Is Miss
Slade a good dancer?"

"Oh, fair. Not in it with you though."

Missy thrilled again, and felt wicked again--alas, how pleasant is
wickedness! "She's awfully pretty," vouchsafed Missy.

"Oh, I guess so"--indifferently.

Yet another thrill.

They took refreshments together, Jim going to get her a second glass of
lemonade and waiting upon her with devotion. Then came the time to go
home. Missy could not hold back a certain sense of triumph as, after
thanking Raymond for a glorious time, she started off, under his
inquisitive eye, arm in arm with Jim.

That unwonted arm-in-arm business confused Missy a good deal. She had
an idea it was the proper thing when one is being escorted home, and had
put her arm in his as a matter of course, but before they had reached
the gate she was acutely conscious of the touch of her arm on his. To
make matters worse, a curious wave of embarrassment was creeping over
her; she couldn't think of anything to say, and they had walked nearly a
block down moon-flooded Silver Street, with no sound but Jim's creaking
shoes, before she got out: "How do you like Cherry vale, Mr. Henley?"

"Looks good to me," he responded.

Then silence again, save for Jim's shoes. Missy racked her brains. What
do you say to boys who don't know the same people and affairs you do?
Back there at the party things had gone easily, but they were playing
cards or dancing or eating; there had been no need for tete-a-tete
conversation. How do you talk to people you don't know?

She liked Jim, but the need to make talk was spoiling everything. She
moved along beside his creaking shoes as in a nightmare, and, as she
felt every atom of her freezing to stupidity, she desperately forced her
voice: "What a beautiful night it is!"

"Yes, it's great."

Missy sent him a sidelong glance. He didn't look exactly happy either.
Did he feel awkward too?

Creak! creak! creak! said the shoes.

"Listen to those shoes--never heard 'em squeak like that before," he
muttered apologetically.

Missy, striving for a proper answer and finding none, kept on moving
through that feeling of nigh