Jack turned to her dazedly. "But I had a girl," he said unhappily. "I seem to have lost her." A soft light came into Mrs. Housing's eyes. "He's gone mad," she shouted, turning to her partner. "He's lost his girl, and it's driven him crazy." If there was anything that put life into Claribel Housing, it was "straightening out" someone else's life. She looked on Jack with the air of the practiced social worker. "There, there, son," she roared. "Don't take on so about it. I'm sure she wasn't half good enough for you." She placed a beefy arm about his shoulder, and nodded to her partner. "Everett, we must do something for this poor soul." Everett Housing had learned to accept his wife's "projects" with resigned good humor. "Yes, dear," he sighed, and followed obediently as his wife led the hapless Jack from the dance floor. It didn't seem to concern the matron that the dancers were stopping to observe their progress. * * * * * Back at the table, Julie, noticing the excitement, reached for Marc's sleeve. "Something's happening to Jack and Toffee!" she cried, jumping up. Marc, jolted from his reverie, followed after her. They reached the group on the dance floor just in time to witness Toffee's reappearance. "What's going on here?" screamed Toffee, confronting Mrs. Housing. "Please get out of my way," said Mrs. Housing regally. "Get out of _your_ way!" Toffee flared. "You should be ashamed of yourself! Picking up a girl's man when her back is turned--and on public dance floors too! And at your age!" Mrs. Housing seemed to explode. "How dare you! I should think that you had caused enough trouble,--you little floosey!" It was apparent to her that this was the young lady who had unseated Jack's reason. At this point Jack did, indeed, appear somewhat demented. Through the ensuing uproar, he tried valiantly but vainly to make himself heard, and seemed merely to be babbling to himself. Toffee was beside herself with rage. "Why, you--you--you old back issue," she yelled. "You outsized pick-up!" She swung her foot behind her and calculated the distance to Mrs. Housing's shin. Unfortunately, her heel caught on the rung of Mr. Kently's chair. That good gentleman, unconcerned of the tumult raging just behind him, was, at the moment, determinedly offering a toast to his wife on the occasion of their twenty-fifth anniversary. He lifted his glass, and with the words: "And to you, my dear--," tossed its entire contents neatly into Mrs. Kently's face. Toffee had jerked the chair swiftly from under him. Mrs. Kently shot out of her chair with a scream designed for blood chilling. Across the room, a guest, somewhat befogged by too much drink, raised a heavy head and shouted: "Murder!" at the top of his lungs. Across from him, his companion looked up with startled eyes and quietly slid under the table, unconscious. The man looked down at her without concern.