“Oh, not ’til we have had a little more dancing, please, dear Mrs. McLean,” came in a chorus from the young people; and Professor Green told her that it would be a pity to throw Dodo back on a rocking chair for a partner before he had had a little more practice with flesh and blood. So up they all sprang, and with Miss Grace at the piano, to relieve the good-natured Mrs. McLean, who had thrummed her fingers sore, off they went into more waltzes and two-steps, even the shy Melissa dancing with Richard Blount as though she had been at balls every night of her life. Otoyo and Mr. Seshu hopped around together as though “step-twoing” and “dance-rounding” were the national dances of Japan. And so ended the delightful surprise party. Before they departed, Dr. McLean drew his wife under the mistletoe and kissed her. “Just to show you bashful young fellows how it is done,” said the jovial doctor. “And I will give the lassies a lesson in how to accept such public demonstration,” said his blushing wife, and she suited the action to the word by giving him a playful slap, whereupon he kissed her again, but instead of another slap she hugged him in return, and there was a general laugh. “I did that just to show the indignant lassies that they must not hold with their anger too long. A kiss under the mistletoe has never yet been offered as an insult, and the forward miss is not the one to get the kiss.” CHAPTER VII.—DREAMS AND REALITIES. The holidays were all too soon over. Much feasting went on, what with Molly’s big turkey and her fruit cake and Rosemary pickles; and the invitations to Mrs. McLean’s and Miss Walker’s; and Otoyo’s Japanese spread, where she and Melissa charmed the company with the beautifully arranged rooms and the dainty, delicious refreshments. Mr. Seshu, throughout, was very attentive to his little countrywoman, and the girls decided that he was in love with her just like any ordinary American might be. “I am so glad it is coming about this way,” said Molly. “Just think how hard it might have been for our little Otoyo, now that she has been in this country long enough to see how we do such things, had she been compelled, by filial feeling, to marry some one whom she did not love and who did not love her. I think she is all over the sentimental attachment she used to have for the unconscious Andy, don’t you, Nance?” “I fancy she is,” said the far from unconscious Nance, who always had a heightened color when young Andy’s name got into the conversation. “I don’t think she ever really cared for Andy. He was just the first and only young man who was ever nice to her, and it went to her head. Andy is so kind and good natured.” “You forget Professor Green. He was always careful and attentive, and Otoyo would chatter like a magpie with him.” “Oh, but he is so much older!” And then Nance wished she had bitten out her tongue, as Molly looked hurt and sad.