"Let yourself go!" When a woman lets herself go, all is over except the terms of the capitulation. She let herself go desperately, because she was forced to do it; fearfully, because of the appalling possibility of a fiasco. She did not know how it was done. She had looped the loop and was still dancing away--a new but unutterably graceful undulation of torso and rhythmical leg work and exquisite sinuous motions of the arms and hands. A storm of applause came to her ears, a hurricane steeped in saccharine. A man who could dance like that was fit to be any girl's husband! The élite flocked on the floor and began to indulge in old-fashioned specialties, some of which were nearly a fortnight old. You heard delighted remarks: "That's Mrs. Vandergilt!" "There goes Reggie Van Duzen!" "Look at Katherine Van Schaick!" Then the New York that Americans call ruffianly, impolite, vulgar, selfish, spendthrift, money-loving, self-satisfied, and stupid, also began to dance decorously! The veteran reporters did not believe their eyes, but they made a note of the fact, nevertheless. Grace was nearly out of breath. She said, "I'm--I'm--I'm--" "Certainly, dear girl." And H. R. deftly piloted her out of the crush. They stopped dancing, and he gave her his arm. She took it. "Grace," he said, "when will you marry me?" "Never!" she answered, determinedly. "And you must not call me Grace." "Right-O!" he said, gratefully. "I'll call to-morrow afternoon. Shall I speak to Bishop Phillipson, or will father--" "I said _never_!" she frowned. "I heard you," he smiled, reassuringly. "I--" Andrew Barrett and the reporters came up to him. "What about the men that fell for the beer?" "Oh, give 'em the left-over grub, if you boys think it's right. But don't print it. The W. C. T. U. would howl at the thought of giving food to people who had first wanted booze." Grace looked on, marveling at the way he ordered things done and at the way men listened to his words. "But what about that ten-thousand-dollar cash to the coupon-holders?" asked young Mr. Lubin, finally taking his eyes off the beautiful capitalist. Feeling that he was beginning to condone with capitalistic crimes, he spoke sternly to H. R. in self-defense. "Oh yes!" said H. R. and turned to Grace. "My dear, I'll have to leave you. Shall I take you to mother?" Reggie Van Duzen saved him the trip. "Say, Mr. Rutgers, could I have--" "Yes, my boy!" gratefully smiled H. R. He shook hands with Reggie and said, very seriously, "_I leave her in your care!_" Reggie, who was very young and careless, flushed proudly. Here was a man who understood men! He would protect Grace with his life. And it gave him a new respect for other women. "I don't blame you, Grace," he said, with his twelve-year-old's smile that clung to him through life and made even poor people like him. "He is a wonder! Beekman Rutgers had the nerve to tell me that all the Rutgerses are like H. R. What do you think of that?"