With one of her quick changes of mood she rose, patted her hair smooth, caught up a wrap oddly inharmonious with the gown and slippers, looped her train over her arm, tool her violin, and ran lightly down-stairs. The parlor, the dining room, the kitchen were deserted and the lights turned low. She braced herself mentally, and, flushing at the unaccustomed act, rapped timidly upon the door which opened into the office--which by that time she knew was really a saloon. Hawley himself opened the door, and in his eyes bulged at sight of her. “Is Mr. Fleetwood here? I--I thought, after all, I'd go to the dance,” she said, in rather a timid voice, shrinking back into the shadow. “Fleetwood? Why, I guess he's gone on over. He said you wasn't going. You wait a minute. I--here, Kent! You take Mrs. Fleetwood over to the hall. Man's gone.” “Oh, no! I--really, it doesn't matter--” But Kent had already thrown away his cigarette and come out to her, closing the door immediately after him. “I'll take you over--I was just going, anyway,” He assured her, his eyes dwelling upon her rather intently. “Oh--I wanted Manley. I--I hate to go--like this, it seems so--so queer, in this place. At first I--I thought it would be a joke, but it isn't; it's silly and,--and ill-bred. You--everybody will be shocked, and--” Kent took a step toward her, where she was shrinking against the stairway. Once before she had lost her calm composure and had let him peep into her mind. Then it had been on account of Manley; now, womanlike, it was her clothes. “You couldn't be anything but all right, if you tried,” he told her, speaking softly. “It isn't silly to look the way the Lord meant you to look. You--you--oh, you needn't worry--nobody's going to be shocked very hard.” He reached out and took the violin from her; took also her arm and opened the outer door. “You're late,” he said, speaking in a more commonplace tone. “You ought to have overshoes, or something--those white slippers won't be so white time you get there. Maybe I ought to carry you.” “The idea!” she stepped out daintily upon the slushy walk. “Well, I can take you a block or two around, and have sidewalk all the way; that'll help some. Women sure are a lot of bother--I'm plumb sorry for the poor devils that get inveigled into marrying one.” “Why, Mr. Burnett! Do you always talk like that? Because if you do, I don't wonder--” “No,” Kent interrupted, looking down at her and smiling grimly, “as it happens, I don't. I'm real nice, generally speaking. Say! this is going to be a good deal of trouble, do you know? After you dance with hubby, you've got to waltz with me.” “_Got_ to?” Val raised her eyebrows, though the expression was lost upon him.