Now Doctor Rem thought on these things and in his heart decided that they were true. But though convicted, he was nothing more. Until that night he got Bell-Bell’s wire to go down on the seven-thirty train. He was going to the Charity Masque in the costume of a Roundhead cavalier, and was as moody as his coat. Yet when he met her, all his moodiness fled. He held her hand in the real forgetfulness of inchoate possession. She drew it away angrily. “Why—may I sit with you?” he begged in beautiful humility. “Thee is alone?” It escaped out of her heart of hearts. Rem had the misfortune to laugh. “Oh, that was the cause of your anger!” “That thee was alone—yes,” she countered with tremendous aplomb. “I am very sorry—for my anger.” She made the room for him at her side he had begged for. “Your anger was justified,” said Rem, happily. “No one has any business to be alone in a thing like this—and—therefore—I am going to tempt—you—” “I feel like a little brown sparrow among you all,” she said with discontent, for the car was crowded with the guests of the Masque. “Do you suspect how many of these ladies would like to be this little brown sparrow?” “Not one!” she cried fiercely. “Rebellion!” laughed he. “No! Guile! Wickedness! Shame!” she cried, hiding her face with her hands, and so making herself irresistible to the cavalier. “But I cannot help it! One of my ancestors—a very near one—belonged to the _corps_—and—do you know what I am wishing with all my heart?” “Yes,” he laughed. “Thee does not. Of course not. But I will tell thee. I am wishing to go to this Masque! There!” “I know. It is foreordained.” “You do not. And it is as bad to wish to be wicked as to be wicked.” “Therefore it can be no worse for you to go.” “I dance!” “Whew!” “Yes! Like a little demon! Don’t stare so. The people in the rear are looking. They don’t take me for a Quaker at all. They think I am costumed for the ball. I heard them saying so before you came.” “Listen!” Even then a young prince on the other side was saying to one Starlight: “It was an exquisite idea. And the whole costume is fine!” “It is fate!” tempted Rem. “Bell-Bell taught me. That is our secret. Thee must keep it with us. No, after all, Bell-Bell only helped a little. My feet were born to it. For, even when I was a child, to hear a waltz and sit perfectly still was impossible. Often my portion was dry bread for it. Yet I did not care. Does thee think one can inherit such wickedness?” “Yes, thank God, it is a law of nature.” “Oh, if I could once dance, dance, dance, till I was dizzy—delirious—and wicked as sin itself—la la la—” She hummed the music of a waltz— “—till I dropped in my tracks—” she stopped to laugh a trifle piteously at the pretty bit of slang on her tongue—“I think I should be cured. Similia similibus curantur, thee knows.” She turned upon him where he gazed bewitched and cried with flushed cheeks and flashing, laughing, hungry eyes: