The trolley ran within two miles of the Hunt Club. The car was crowded with masqueraders, and for the first time since I started out I felt comfortable. Everybody laughed and talked, though nobody knew who his neighbor was. I sat in a corner, silent and motionless as a sphinx. Once a pair of blue slippers attracted my eye, and again the flash of a lovely arm. At the end of the trolley line was a carryall which was to convey us to the club. We got into the conveyance, noisily and good-humoredly. The exclamations of the women were amusing. "Good gracious!" "Isn't it fun!" "Lovely!" And all that. It must have been a novelty for some of these to act naturally for once. Nothing lasts so long as the natural instinct for play; and we always find ourselves coming back to it. Standing some hundred yards back from the road was the famous Hollywood Inn, run by the genial Moriarty. Sometimes the members of the Hunt Club put up there for the night when there was to be a run the following morning. It was open all the year round. We made the club at exactly ten-thirty. Fortune went with me; doubtless it was the crowd going in that saved me from close scrutiny. My spirits rose as I espied Teddy Hamilton at the door. He was on the committee, and was in plain evening clothes. It was good to see a familiar face. I shouldered toward him and passed out my ten dollars. "Hello, Teddy, my son!" I cried out jovially. "Hello!"--grinning. Teddy thought it was some one he knew; well, so it was. "What's your card?" he cried, as I pressed by him. "The ten of hearts." "The ten of hearts," repeated Teddy to a man who was keeping tally on a big cardboard. This sight did not reassure me. If they were keeping tally of all the cards presented at the door, they would soon find out that there were too many tens of hearts, too many by one! Well, at any rate, I had for the time being escaped detection; now for the fun. It would be sport-royal while it lasted. What a tale to give out at the club of a Sunday night! I chuckled on the way to the ball-room: I had dispensed with going up to the dressing-room. My robe was a genuine one, heavy and warm; so I had no overcoat to check. "Grave monk, your blessing!" Turning, I beheld an exquisite Columbine. [Illustration: Turning, I beheld an exquisite Columbine.] "_Pax vobiscum_!" I replied solemnly. "_Pax_ . . . What does that mean?" "It means, do not believe all you see in the newspapers." Columbine laughed gaily. "I did not know that you were a Latin scholar; and besides, you gave me to understand you were coming as a Jesuit, Billy." Billy? Here was one who thought she knew me. I hastened to disillusion her. "My dear Columbine, you do not know me, not the least bit. My name is not Billy, it is Dicky." "Oh, you can not fool me," she returned. "I heard you call out to Teddy Hamilton that your card was the ten of hearts; and you wrote me, saying that would be your card."