He began to walk up and down the room. Half an hour before he had never given me a thought. Henry, I knew, had lugged him there by sheer force and a misplaced sense of justice. And now he was pacing about in a rage! He stopped rather near me. "If it's Mrs. Warrington all the fuss is about, it's imbecile," he said. "In the first place, there never was anything to it. In the second place, it's all over anyhow." "I don't know what the fuss is about." "You know the whole thing. Don't pretend you don't. You've got the face of a little saint, with all that fluffy hair, but your eyes don't belong to the rest, young lady. Are you going to dance with me to-night?" "I'm afraid not." "Well, you'll give me a little time, won't you? I suppose we can sit in a closet and talk, or hide on a veranda." "It's--it's rather sneaking, isn't it?" "That doesn't hurt it any for me." So I promised, and, the car being announced, he put my wrap round my shoulders. "Stunning hair you've got," he said from behind me. "Thank heaven for hair that isn't marceled and glued up in a net!" I held out my hand in the hall, and he took it. "I'm not such a bad lot after all, am I?" he demanded. With my best spontaneous gesture I put my free hand over his as it held mine. "I'm so sorry, so terribly sorry, if I've misunderstood," I said earnestly. Wallace had gone to the outer door. Russell Hill stooped over and kissed my hand. Well, it was working. An hour before I was one of what I'd heard he had called "the dolly dozen." Now, by merely letting him understand that he couldn't have what he'd never wanted, he was eager. We sat out one dance under the stairs, and an intermission in a pantry while the musicians who had been stationed there were getting their supper. He tried to hold my hand and I drew it away--not too fast, but so he could understand the struggle I was having between duty and inclination. And we talked about love. I said I liked to play round with men and have a good time and all that sort of thing, but that I thought I was naturally cold. "You cold?" he said. "It's only that the right man has not come along." "I've known a good many. A good many have--have----" "Cared for you? Of course. They're not fools or blind. Look here, I'm going to ring you up now and then." "I think you'd better not." "If I'm not to see you and not to telephone, how's this friendship of ours to get on?" "People who are real friends don't need to see each other." "That's the first real débutante speech you've made to-night. Now, see here, I'm going to see you again, and often. And I'm going to ring you up. What's your tailor's name?" I told him, and he put it down on his dance card. "All right," he said. "Herschenrother is now my middle name, and if it's not convenient to talk, you can give me the high sign."