H. R. left the stage and walked into the Goodchild box. Grace had been receiving congratulations all the evening until she had convinced herself that this was her dinner. It was all H. R. could do to force his way through the plutocracy in the Imperial Box. Talking to Grace at the same time were three young men who never before had accepted Mrs. Goodchild's invitations to marry Grace. But Grace was now the most-talked-of girl in all New York. And she was officially very beautiful and Goodchild _père_ was not enough. And Grace was very kind to all of them. All empresses are kindly when they haven't Dyspepsia or Dynamite Dreams. All unpleasant things seem to begin with a "D." There is Death and Damnation; also Duty. Mr. Goodchild frowned when he saw H. R. in the box. But when he saw that H. R. never even looked at him he became really angry. Mrs. Goodchild looked alarmed and hissed, "Don't you talk to him, Grace!" Grace, knowing herself desired by the most eligible young men in her set, decided to squelch H. R. in public. H. R., however, walked past everybody, looking neither to left nor right. Feeling themselves treated as so many chairs or hat-racks, the élite of New York began to feel like intruders. Then, as an imperial mandate is given, H. R. said to Miss Goodchild: "We're needed!" He offered her his arm. The young men rose and made room for him. Duty called, and they never interfered with duty. Grace hypnotically obeyed, for H. R. was frowning. Together they walked down to the floor of the Garden. The Public Sentiment Corps did their duty. They had not yet received the beer. They shouted, frenziedly: "H. R.! H. R.! H. R.!" The public took up the cheering. Thousands of outstretched hands reached out for his. But H. R. merely bowed, right and left, and walked to the middle of the floor. "Smile at them!" he whispered, fiercely, to Grace. She did. She knew then what it was to be a Queen. She felt an overpowering kindliness toward all these delightful, simple people. Reggie was not brilliant, but that wasn't expected of a Van Duzen. She did not love Reggie, but she _liked_ him. As Mrs. Van Duzen she would always have what she liked. She would never marry H. R.! It was preposterous. The band began to play. The crowd, instead of dancing, moved toward the sides--to give H. R. room to dance. Never before on Manhattan Island had such a triumph of personality fallen to the lot of any man. H. R. put his arm about Grace Goodchild. She shrank from the symbolism of bondage. "The world is looking on!" he admonished her. Knowing that she danced very well, she now had but one fear--that her partner might make her ridiculous. But H. R. was the best dancer she had ever honored. She felt her resolution not to marry him slipping away. He led divinely. She felt that she herself had never danced so well in her life. He brought out the best that was in her. "Ever try the Rutgers Roll?" he whispered, tensely. "N-no! she gasped.