They walked slowly into the room, and were met by a new sound over the clangor of music and voices. It was that buzz which to the heart of the debutante is the elixir of life, and to the city matron is the nectar which promises immortal beauty. In the dance-hall at Bridewell it was less covert. Jacqueline stood in the spot-light like a queen. She knew that her color had heightened. She knew that the flare of the gasoline-lamp made her hair a glorious dull-red fire, touched with golden points of light, which fell again on the necklace at her throat, the only heirloom she had received from her mother, and still further down on the bronze slippers. The admiration of the men filled her heart; the trouble in the more covert stares of the girls overflowed it. A sense of power flooded in her like electricity. She knew that when she turned and dropped her hand on the arm of Carrigan it sent a tingle through him. Her smile was casual and her eyes calm. Her whisper was surcharged with a vital anxiety. “Do you dance--well?” “Regular fairy,” grinned Carrigan, and she wished his mouth was not so broad. “How about you?” “Not so bad.” “Let’s start.” Dancers are not made even by infinite pains and lessons. They are born, and Jac was a born dancer. With the smooth floor underfoot, the light slippers, the pulse and urge of the music, however crude, the newborn sense of dignity and womanly power, she became an artist. She danced not to the music, but to what the music might have been. Through the film of pleasure she vaguely knew that people were giving way a little before her. She knew the eyes of the girls were upon her feet. She knew the eyes of the men were upon her face and the sway of the graceful body, and among those eyes she found one pair more bright and devouring than all the rest. It was Maurie Gordon. He was dancing with a little golden-haired beauty, Dolly Maxwell. She let her eyes rest carelessly upon him. She smiled. Handsome Maurie started as though some one had stepped on his foot. He stumbled--he lost his step--his little partner frowned up at him and then flashed a look of utter hate toward Jac. A girl may guess at the heart of a man, but she can absolutely read the soul of another woman. It is a subtle system of wireless which tells a thousand words in a single smile; a glance is a spark driven by ten thousand volts. The heart of Jacqueline swelled with the Song of Songs. “Do something!” she murmured in the ear of Carrigan. He met her eyes with a cold understanding. “You’ve just seen Maurie Gordon?” he asked. “You’re dancing wonderfully,” she pleaded, “but do something new.” “Do you know the Carrigan cut?” “I’ll try it.” “It’s a cross between a glide, a dip, and a roll. Take three short steps, then take a long, draggy slide to the left--and let yourself go.”