His forehead grew damp. His knees trembled beneath the table. "Jephson--Thacker, Jephson--Thacker," he said over and over to himself. After dinner, when the added guests invited by the duchess for the dance crowded the ballroom, Minot encountered Jack Paddock. Mr. Paddock was limp and pitiable. "Ever apologize to an angry woman?" he asked. "Ever try to expostulate with a storm at sea? I've had it out with Mrs. Bruce--offered to do anything to atone--she said the best thing I could do would be to disappear from San Marco. She's right. I'm going. This is my exit from the butterfly life. And I don't intend to say good-by to the duchess, either." "I wish I could go with you," said Minot sadly. "Well--come along----" "No. I--I'll stick it out. See you later." Mr. Paddock slipped unostentatiously away in the direction of the elevator. On a dais hidden by palms the orchestra began to play softly. "You haven't asked to see my card," said Cynthia Meyrick at Minot's side. He smiled a wan smile, and wrote his name opposite number five. She drifted away. The music became louder, rising to the bright stars themselves. The dances that had furnished so much bitter conversation at table began to break out. Minot hunted up the balcony and stood gazing miserably down at fairy-land below. There Miss Meyrick found him when the fifth dance was imminent. "Is it customary for girls to pursue their partners?" she inquired. "I'm sorry," he said weakly. "Shall we go in?" "It's so--so glorious out here." He sighed--a sigh of resignation. He turned to her. "You asked me--what is woman's greatest privilege," he said. "Yes." "Is it--to change her mind?" She looked timidly into his eyes. "It--is," she whispered faintly. The most miserably happy man in history, he gasped. "Cynthia! It's too late--you're to be married to-morrow. Do you mean--you'd call it all off now--at the last minute?" She nodded her head, her eyes on the ground. "My God!" he moaned, and turned away. "It would be all wrong--to marry Harrowby," she said faintly. "Because I've come to--I--oh, Dick, can't you see?" "See! Of course I see!" He clenched his fists. "Cynthia, my dearest----" Below him stretched six stories of open space. In his agony he thought of leaping over the rail--of letting that be his answer. But no--it would disarrange things so--it might even postpone the wedding! "Cynthia," he groaned, "you can't understand. It mustn't be--I've given my word. I can't explain. I can never explain. But--Cynthia--Cynthia----" Back in the shadow the girl pressed her hands to her burning cheeks. "A strange love--yours," she said. "A love that blows hot and cold." "Cynthia--that isn't true--I do love you----" "Please! Please let us--forget." She stepped into the moonlight, fine, brave, smiling. "Do we--dance?" "Cynthia!" he cried unhappily. "If you only understood----"