“Oh, just watching the moon.” “You're a funny girl,” he laughed. “Why am I funny?” Her tone was a little wistful. “Why, moon-gazing instead of dancing, and everything.” “But I like to dance too,” emphasized Missy, as if to defend herself against a charge. “I'll take you up on that. Come straight in and dance the next dance with me!” Missy obeyed. And then she knew that she had met the Dancer of the World. At first she was pleased that her steps fitted his so well, and then she forgot all about steps and just floated along, on invisible gauzy wings, unconscious of her will of direction, of his will of direction. There was nothing in the world but invisible gauzy wings, which were herself and Jim and the music. And they were a part of the music and the music was a part of them. It was divine. “Say, you can dance!” said Jim admiringly when the music stopped. “I love to dance.” “I should say you might! You dance better than any girl I ever danced with!” This, from a military uniform, was praise indeed. Missy blushed and was moved to hide her exaltation under modesty. “I guess the reason is because I love it so much. I feel as if it's the music dancing--not me. Do you feel it that way?” “Never thought of it that way,” answered Jim. “But I don't know but what you're right. Say, you ARE a funny girl, aren't you?” But Missy knew that whatever he meant by her being a “funny girl” he didn't dislike her for it, because he rushed on: “You must let me have a lot of dances--every one you can spare.” After that everything was rapture. All the boys liked to dance with Missy because she was such a good dancer, and Jim kept wanting to cut in to get an extra dance with her himself. Somehow even the sting of the visiting girl's laugh and of Raymond's defection seemed to have subsided into triviality. And when Raymond came up to ask for a dance she experienced a new and pleasurable thrill in telling him she was already engaged. That thrill disturbed her a little. Was it possible that she was vindictive, wicked? But when she saw Jim approaching while Raymond was receiving his conge, she thrilled again, simultaneously wondering whether she was, after all, but a heartless coquette. Jim had just been dancing with the visiting girl, so she asked: “Is Miss Slade a good dancer?” “Oh, fair. Not in it with you though.” Missy thrilled again, and felt wicked again--alas, how pleasant is wickedness! “She's awfully pretty,” vouchsafed Missy. “Oh, I guess so”--indifferently. Yet another thrill. They took refreshments together, Jim going to get her a second glass of lemonade and waiting upon her with devotion. Then came the time to go home. Missy could not hold back a certain sense of triumph as, after thanking Raymond for a glorious time, she started off, under his inquisitive eye, arm in arm with Jim.