She said it meekly, and seemed to be shyly pleased when he said he much preferred to sit it out. And they sat it out--on the porch. Moonlight could not have been more luscious on Cleopatra's barge than it was there. The piazza, which needed paint in the daylight, was blue enameled by the moon. The girl's voice was in key with the harmony of the hour and she brought him tidings from the East and from Europe. They were as grateful as home news in exile. He expected to have her torn from him at any moment. But, to his amazement, no one came to demand her. They were permitted to sit undisturbed for dance after dance. She was suffering ostracism. The more he talked to her the more he was puzzled. Even Arthur did not appear. Even the normal jealousy of a fiance was not evident. Orson's brain grew frantic for explanation. The girl was not wicked, nor insolent. She plainly had no contagious disease, no leprosy, no plague, not even a cold. Then why was she persecuted? He was still fretting when the word was passed that supper was ready, and they were called in. Plates and napkins were handed about by obliging young gallants; chicken salad and sandwiches were dealt out with a lavish hand, and ice-cream and cake completed the banquet. Arthur had the decency to sit with Em and to bring her things to eat, but he munched grimly at his own fodder. Orson tagged along and sat on the same sofa. It was surprising how much noise the guests made while they consumed their food. The laughter and clatter contrasted with the soft speech of Em, all to her advantage. When the provender was gone, and the plates were removed, Tudie whisked Orson away to dance with her. As he danced he noted that Em was a wall-flower, trying to look unconcerned, but finally seeking shelter by the side of Tudie's mother, who gave her scant hospitality. Tudie began at once, "Well, have you found out?" "No, I haven't." "Didn't you notice how affected she is?" "No more than any other girl." "Oh, thank you! So you think I'm affected." "Not especially. But everybody is, one way or another--even the animals and the birds." "Really! And what is my affectation?" "I don't know, and I wouldn't tell you if I did. What's Miss Terriberry's?" "Didn't you dahnce with her?" "Yes." "Well, that's it." "What's that?" "She says 'dahnce,' doesn't she?" "I believe she does." "Well, she used to say 'dannce' like the rest of us." "What of it? Is it a sin to change?" "It's an affectation." "Why? Is education an affectation?" "Oh! so you call the rest of us uneducated?" "For Heaven's sake, no! You know too much, if anything. But what has that to do with Miss Terriberry?" Because their minds were at such loggerheads their feet could not keep measure. They dropped out of the dance and sought the porch, while Tudie raged on: "She has no right to put on airs. Her father is no better than mine. Who is she, anyway, that she should say 'dahnce' and 'cahn't' and 'chahmed'?"