Deliberately then Mr. Smith went in search Of Mellicent. He found her in the music-room, which had been cleared for dancing. She was surrounded by four young men. One held her fan, one carried her white scarf on his arm, a third was handing her a glass of water. The fourth was apparently writing his name on her dance card. The one with the scarf Mr. Smith recognized as Carl Pennock. The one writing on the dance programme he knew was young Hibbard Gaylord.

Mr. Smith did not approach at once. Leaning against a window-casing near by, he watched the kaleidoscopic throng, bestowing a not too conspicuous attention upon the group about Miss Mellicent Blaisdell.

Mellicent was the picture of radiant loveliness. The rose in her cheeks matched the rose of her gown, and her eyes sparkled with happiness. So far as Mr. Smith could see, she dispensed her favors with rare impartiality; though, as he came toward them finally, he realized at once that there was a merry wrangle of some sort afoot. He had not quite reached them when, to his surprise, Mellicent turned to him in very evident relief.

"There, here's Mr. Smith," she cried gayly. "I'm going to sit it out with him. I shan't dance it with either of you."

"Oh, Miss Blaisdell!" protested young Gaylord and Carl Pennock abjectly.

But Mellicent shook her head.

"No. If you WILL both write your names down for the same dance, it is nothing more than you ought to expect."

"But divide it, then. Please divide it," they begged. "We'll be satisfied."

"I shan't be!" Mellicent shook her head again merrily.

"I shan't be satisfied with anything—but to sit it out with Mr. Smith. Thank you, Mr. Smith," she bowed, as she took his promptly offered arm.

And Mr. Smith bore her away followed by the despairing groans of the two disappointed youths and the taunting gibes of their companions.

"There! Oh, I'm so glad you came," sighed Mellicent. "You didn't mind?"

"Mind? I'm in the seventh heaven!" avowed Mr. Smith with exaggerated gallantry. "And it looked like a real rescue, too."

Mellicent laughed. Her color deepened.

"Those boys—they're so silly!" she pouted.

"Wasn't one of them young Pennock?"

"Yes, the tall, dark one."

"He's come back, I see."

She flashed an understanding look into his eyes.

"Oh, yes, he's come back. I wonder if he thinks I don't know—WHY!"

"And—you?" Mr. Smith was smiling quizzically.

She shrugged her shoulders with a demure dropping of her eyes.

Oh, I let him come back—to a certain extent. I shouldn't want him to think I cared or noticed enough to keep him from coming back—some."

"But there's a line beyond which he may not pass, eh?"

"There certainly is!—but let's not talk of him. Oh, Mr. Smith, I'm so happy!" she breathed ecstatically.

"I'm very glad."

In a secluded corner they sat down on a gilt settee.