Now, under Robert’s vigorous appeal, he shook himself together. “I’m a worse sentimental idiot than dear old Betsy,” he thought. Robert, lurking cautiously in the background, viewed his friend’s deliberate advance to Mrs. Nixon’s corner, and heaved a sigh of relief. Slinking into the hall with intent to seek Rosalie, he saw her, still leaning on the arm of Mr. Derwent, who was leading her, also, toward the corner where Mrs. Nixon sat enthroned. Robert remained unostentatiously behind the jamb of the door, and his small bright eyes twinkled appreciatively as he watched his uncle place a chair near by for his charge. “Mrs. Bruce has slid out of it,” he thought gleefully, “and mamma is Hebe’s chaperon, willy-nilly. I’ll bet she don’t like it a little bit! Now, Nixie, look bland and don’t let your upper lip wiggle. You may pull it off yet!” The rugs had been swiftly removed, and the music started. A number of couples swung promptly out upon the floor. Robert saw Irving say something to Rosalie, and then smile and bow to Helen, who rose and floated away with him. Then, only, Robert, with an expression of singular innocence, came leisurely across the floor to his mother’s corner. She looked at him with a fixed regard, and her nostrils dilated. “Where were you, Robert?” she asked. “Irving has taken Helen out for the first dance.” “Just like him,” returned Robert brazenly. “Mother, you must accustom yourself to such blows, or your parental pride will be constantly wounded. I’m not one, two, three with Brute where girls are concerned, but I’ve had to learn to turn a sunny side to the world in spite of it, and weep only when alone. I don’t want to grow cynical, but I find that it is too true that others care little for our sorrows. Miss Vincent, shall we show them how to do this?” Rosalie rose, smiling a farewell to Mr. Derwent, and started off in such perfect step with her partner that he emitted a joyous exclamation. “Perhaps Hebe isn’t some dancer!” he said. “Say, do you mind my calling you Hebe? It takes so much less time than Terpsichore.” “Mr. Nixon, your mother didn’t like this at all,” said Rosalie. “Well, when you come right down to it,” remarked her partner philosophically, “there are so few things she does like.” “But—ought you not to have had this with Miss Maynard?” “Some carping critics might say so,—Look out, there! Didn’t we duck neatly under Brute’s elbow? The fact is, Miss Vincent, I’ve graduated in almost every line except diplomacy; and _you_—you just swept me off my feet to-night. No—don’t be afraid I shall try to flirt with you. That requires diplomacy, too, and I make too many breaks ever to be successful at it. I was crazy about you to-night, and when I heard Ames say ‘dancing,’ I blurted my innocent wish right out. I’m just a child of nature—fresh, unspoiled.” Rosalie laughed. “I’ve heard people say you were fresh,” she said. “Naughty, naughty!” returned Robert.