She made a sudden resolution, rose with sprightly vivacity from her chair, flung a sparkling glance to her mother whose beautiful face was a little pinched with the strain under which she had lived these last few weeks. “Dance, of course. Van!” she cried, wrinkling her nose at him with a provocative moue. “I was dreaming about you! Aren’t you flattered?” She saw her mother’s pinched face flush and bloom with hope, caught an austere but approving smile from Courtney Barr, with whom she had not yet reached the intimacy that should exist between a father and a daughter, even an adopted daughter. If she could make them so happy by marrying Arthur Van Horne, why let her own feelings prevent? If she couldn’t have David, what difference did it make whom she married? And if she married Van Horne the only menace to her mother’s reputation would be removed. “You adorable little thing!” Van Horne whispered, as he swept her out upon the crowded dance floor. “So you were dreaming about me? Pleasant dreams, little Princess Lalla?” His ardent, dark face was bending close, his black eyes free of mockery but lit by a fire that repelled her. “Did you really fall in love with ‘Princess Lalla’?” Sally forced herself to ask coquettishly, fluttering her long lashes in the demure fashion which had proved so effective during her short career as a debutante. “Absurd question!” Van Horne jeered softly. “Didn’t I convince you at the time? Listen, Sally, I almost never see you alone. Enid seems to have an antiquated leaning toward chaperonage.” “Chaperons are ‘coming in’ again,” Sally laughed at him, hiding her distaste. “Mother adores being a leader of fashion, you know.” “You’re so adorable tonight that I want to run away with you,” Van told her boldly. “But I’ll try to be content if you’ll promise me to come to my apartment alone for tea tomorrow. Do, Sally! I’ve something to tell you. Can you guess?” She stiffened, every nerve on the defensive against him. But she remembered her resolution, and nodded slowly, her head tucked on one side, her eyes granting him a swift, shy upward glance. “If you look at me like that again, I’ll kiss you right here on the dance floor!” Van threatened exultantly, as his arms tightened about her. Enid’s pathetic gratitude to her for being “nice” to Van Horne strengthened the girl’s resolution to carry it through. She dressed with especial care for her tea date with Van the next afternoon, pinning the corsage of Parma violets which he had sent her on the full shawl collar of her Russian squirrel coat. But before she left her room she took the ring David had given her from the box in which she had hidden it because the sight of it hurt her so intolerably, and kissed the shallow, flawed little sapphire with passionate grief.