"Certainly it shall go no farther," he assured her. "And I owe you an apology for the trouble which I fear I have ignorantly brought upon you. If there is anything I can say----" She shook her head proudly, and Francis, fronting them both, made a motion of negation, too. "You must be tired," he added to his gesture. "Or would you care to watch the dancers awhile?" "No, I thank you," said Mr. Logan courteously in his turn. "If you will tell me of some near-by hotel----" "There's only this," explained Francis. "But I think your room is ready by now. Miss O'Mara--I'll call her--will show you to it." Peggy, summoned by a signal whistle from the ballroom, convoyed Logan upstairs with abundant good-will and much curiosity. She had never seen any one like him before, and took in his looks and belongings with the intense and frank absorption of an Indian. Indeed, as she explained to Marjorie, whom she met at the foot of the stairs, it was only by the help of the saints and her own good decency that she didn't follow him into his room and stay there to watch him unpack. "With the charming, purry voice he has, and all the little curlicues when he finishes his words, and the little cane--does he never sleep without it, would you say?--and the little Latin books he reads----" But here Marjorie pulled her up. "How on earth do you know he reads little Latin books?" Peggy flushed generously. "Well, if you must know, I gave one teeny weeny peek through the crack in the door after I left him, and he was thrown down across his cot like a long, graceful tomcat or leopard or something, and he pulled a little green leather book out of his pocket and went to reading it on the spot. 'Pervigilium Veneris,' its name was. All down the side." Marjorie had heard of it; in fact, in pursuance of her education Mr. Logan had made her read several translations of it. It had bored her a little, but she had read it dutifully, because she had felt at that time that it would be nice to be intellectually widened, and because Logan had praised it so highly. "Oh, yes, I know," she said. "And is it a holy book?" Peggy inquired. "Just a long Latin poem about people running around in the woods at night and having a sort of celebration of Venus's birthday," said Marjorie absently. It occurred to her Logan would have been worse shocked if he could have heard her offhand summing-up of his pet poem than he had been by her attitude about going back to New York with him. But she had more important things on her mind than Latin poetry. When Peggy met her she was on her way to go off and think them out. "Good-night, Peggy," she said. "I'm going to bed. I have to get up early and go to work." Peggy laughed. "Don't talk nonsense. The dance isn't half over, and everybody's crazy to dance with you. You can sleep till the crack of doom to-morrow, and with not a soul to stop you." Marjorie shook her head, smiling a little.