At all times dancing as a social custom was something that startled Rupert Haverford; now, as he saw Camilla held ever so lightly in the arms of another man, he felt choked, hurt, almost outraged. His face was so stern, so angry that Camilla was satisfied. "A pity our host is so puritanical," she said to her partner; "he is looking at us now as if he would like to annihilate us both, and all because we are dancing! I love shocking him! He is such a nice old maid." "A real good sort, though, all the same," answered the man, "one of the best...." "I begin to hate good people, they are so wet-blankety," Camilla said impatiently. "Isn't this a splendid floor?" she said the next moment. "I could waltz all night. Tell me when you have had enough." Mrs. Brenton moved across to where Rupert was standing. "I love to see Camilla dance," she said, "she is all grace, and she dances with the heart of a child. Indeed, to me she always remains a child.... Sometimes when I see her with her babies I cannot realize that she is their mother, or that she has gone through more dark experiences as Ned Lancing's wife than happily one woman in a hundred is called upon to endure." Mrs. Brenton was silent a moment. Then she turned. "I think I have made things comfortable for Miss Graniger," she said; "she looked so tired, poor child. She is an interesting-looking child. I wonder if she is purely English?" Rupert Haverford did not answer. He had of course warmly thanked her, but now he scarcely heard her words. He was watching Camilla intently. Now and then she seemed to circle so closely to him he could have touched her floating draperies; then she was swept away from him swiftly--far, far away. Her small white feet appeared scarcely to touch the ground; to his jealous fancy she leaned too intimately on the arm that embraced her. Her blue eyes mocked him at one moment, and pleaded the next. Sometimes she ceased laughing, and then her lips would take the pensive expression that was so pathetic, and which moved him so. When the music ceased, Camilla came slowly towards them--she was panting a little. "You must really give a ball, Mr. Haverford," she said; then, restlessly, "Is it time to go, Agnes? I am sure it is. You look as though you were longing to be in your little bi-bi." They did not go immediately, however, but she kept all the men hovering about her, and adroitly avoided being alone with Haverford for an instant. "Did I hear you make an assignation for to-morrow with that dear, dull person?" she queried listlessly as Mrs. Brenton and she were swept fleetly homewards in Haverford's electric carriage. "Yes; he is coming to see me in the morning, or rather to see somebody else." And then Mrs. Brenton explained further. "I fancy his mother must be a cat," said Camilla, yawning; "they don't seem to meet very often. I am sure I am not surprised, for he is a very dreary person, you know, Agnes, my dear."