The next hour was an almost unbearable eternity to Sally. But she “play-acted” through it—gave the tips of her fingers to late comers, smiled, murmured appropriate phrases which Enid had painstakingly taught her; opened the ball; danced, in rapid succession with the most importunate of her male guests, for Enid, reluctantly acceding to the new informality, had not insisted upon dance cards. But all the time her eyes were darting about on their quest for David. She spotted him at last, near the door of the ballroom, moodily listening to whatever it was that Courtney Barr was saying in his most unctuous, weighty manner. “Please—I’ll be back soon!” Sally gasped to her amazed partner, and broke from his grasp. She did not in the least care that curious glances and uplifted brows followed her fleet progress across the crowded ballroom floor. Her whole attention was given to David, David who looked ill-at-ease and wretched— “Aren’t you going to dance with me?” she cried as soon as she reached him and her adopted father. “You mustn’t let Father monopolize you. Come, before the music stops.” Unsmiling, David took her into his arms, gingerly, as if he were afraid of crushing the precious dress. “Do you remember the other time we danced together, David?” she whispered, her voice tender with memories. “In the Carsons’ parlor. No one else would dance with me and Pearl could have slain me because you did. Remember?” David nodded, held her just a trifle closer, but his face was as grim and unhappy as ever. She tucked her head against his broad breast and closed her eyes so that he could not see her tears. When the music stopped abruptly, she seized his hand, drew him urgently. “We’ve got to go somewhere to talk, David. I can’t stand—this.” He let her lead him down three flights of the magnificent circular marble staircase, and because he was so silent she thought miserably that it might be hurting him that she was so much at home in this vast, splendid house. “Miss Rice’s office!” she cried, after he had darted about in an unsuccessful effort to find a secluded nook not already occupied by truant couples. When the door had closed upon them, she faced him, her breath catching on a little gasp of anticipation. But his arms stayed rigidly at his side. “It was in this very room, David,” she began eagerly, “that I fought the battle with Mother and won. I made her keep her promise to me to invite you to my coming-out ball. She promised me two and a half years ago, promised so I would promise her not to write to you. But I wrote you every week, sometimes oftener, and I’m still writing every week, though I can’t mail the letters. Now I can! Now I can! Do you realize I’m of age, David? I’m eighteen and a half, and I’m ‘out.’ Isn’t that funny? I’m officially ‘out’ now, and I can do as I please.”