"Miss Lawrence, I believe this is our dance. Sorry to deprive you, Maynard," and before Jean could recover from her astonishment, Maynard had bowed himself away and Farr was smiling gravely down at her. "Please don't be angry, Miss Jean. 'Nothing venture nothing have,' you know, and I have had so little lately." Jean looked up at him helplessly at a loss for an answer. "I want the waltz very much," he added in a tone of pleading. She laughed a bit unsteadily. "Why, of course, I will dance with you, although I must confess your mode of asking me is very strange." "'All is fair in----' Which is it, Jean?" he asked softly as they fell into the measure of the waltz. She dropped her eyes, glad that at present no reply was required of her. When the last strain had died away, Farr drew her hand through his arm, and they threaded their way among the crowd out into the cool hall-way. "Is this your wrap?" he queried, selecting one from the number that were thrown across a chair. "Now let us go outside for a little stroll." They made their way out on to the little veranda, which on this side of the hotel was built on a ledge of rocks, and overhung the waters of Crescent Bay. Avoiding the rank and file of dancers, who were now promenading slowly up and down, they crossed to the railing and stood there gazing silently before them. In the harbor below myriads of boats lay at anchor, all gayly decorated in honor of the occasion. Further out the moon's bright radiance fell softly on the tremulous waves, and across its golden sheen a white-winged yacht sped silently on its way. By and by, Jean roused herself with a slight effort: "What Philistinism it is to illuminate the veranda with those ugly lanterns. Their flaring light quite spoils the effect of the moonlight." Her poor little commonplace attempt to open the conversation met with disastrous failure. Farr muttered inattentively "Yes, indeed," and relapsed into silence again. In the long pause that ensued the monotonous splash of the waves against the rocks below sounded deliciously cool and refreshing. A rowboat shot out from the pier, skimming the darkened waters under the lea of the shore. Farr drew nearer to Jean and spoke with deep earnestness: "We cannot take up the thread of the past, Miss Jean, with this constraint between us, but I am not willing to let it go without an attempt at an explanation. Will you not tell me what I have done to have forfeited your friendship?" Jean's head was bent, her few words of dissent almost inaudible. Farr interrupted her in a voice that was both pained and stern. "Please don't deny it. I cannot have forfeited the right to your honesty. Did I presume too much on your great kindness to me, Jean?" "No, oh no!" she cried hastily, with a little break in her voice. "Indeed you must not think that." A man's step approached them, and stopped at Jean's side. "Miss Lawrence," Maynard's voice said, "the next waltz is ours. Shall I find you here?"