She felt that the food would choke her if she attempted to eat it, but how dispose of it? She could not let Frank see that it had not been touched. She looked around wildly. It would never do to empty it in any of the pots or tubs which held the palms. Then she realized that this was a bay window. Perhaps she could lift one of the sashes. She made the attempt, and found she could open the window far enough to allow her to toss out the contents of the plates, trusting that a dog or cat would discover it before morning. Then she sat back, fervently hoping that Frank would not return before what would seem a reasonable time for one to eat what he had brought. “He certainly will think I have a good appetite,” she said to herself as she regarded the empty dishes which she set down under one of the palms. As luck would have it Frank did not return very soon. “There was such a mob I could scarcely get near the tables,” he said, “but I knew how to turn the trick by going around the back way, and I snatched a bite for myself while the going was good.” Ellen picked at the ice-cream and nibbled a macaroon, but permitted herself to appear more absorbed in Frank’s long-winded account of how he was nearly held up for speeding a few days before. Frank was never eloquent, and his tales always held many digressions. Ellen made few comments, for her thoughts were not on the subject. She longed for the time to come when she might go, or, at least, that there might be an interruption. This came before long, when Clyde Fawcett’s face appeared between branches of a tall palm. “So this is where you are twosing,” he exclaimed. “I might have known foxy old Frank would seek some out-of-the-way corner. They are going to start up the music again, Ellen, and this is our dance. Tight squeeze getting out, isn’t it? Here, I’ll help you. Step on the edge of that tub.” With the help of her two cavaliers Ellen managed an escape from her bower and was soon among the dancers, desperately longing for the time to come when she could make her farewells. At last the hour arrived when Caro in her rosy dress came up to her. “Dad is here for me,” she said. “Are you going home with us, Ellen?” “Not much she isn’t,” Frank spoke up. “I brought her and I shall take her home. Stay for another dance or two, Hazel.” “Oh, no, I mustn’t,” Ellen spoke hastily. “Mrs. Rowe will be sitting up for us, and I must get back when Caro does.” And in spite of Frank’s persuasions she kept to her decision, glad when she could follow in Caro’s wake and murmur a few polite words to Florence as they took their leave. As she stepped into the big red car she cast one backward look at the pretentious, brilliantly lighted mansion. “Farewell, Castle Mammon,” she said to herself. “I hope never to enter your walls again.”