We solemnly shook hands--as Nanette came racing in. She was flushed with excitement, and wearing a new frock. Her blue eyes shone like stars when she saw O’Shea. She looked adorable, and was well aware of the fact. Her happiness was that of the girl who knows herself to be perfectly gowned. It was completed now that Fate had ordained O’Shea to be the first man to see her so. Jumping on to a tall stool: “Do you like me?” she demanded naïvely. “You look as though you had come straight from fairyland,” I said. “Let me order you something, to prove you are mortal.” “Oh, no, please!” cried Nanette. “Mumsy would play Hamlet if she caught me drinking cocktails! Give me just a sip of yours!” She drank from my glass, watching me with roguish eyes; then, turning to O’Shea: “Am I smart enough to be honoured with a dance this evening, Major?” she asked--but the note of raillery faded as she met his glance, and she dropped her bobbed head, looking down at tiny blue and silver shoes. “The honour would be mine, Nanette,” he said, in the gentle way he had of addressing all women. Nanette bit her lip and jumped to the floor, as her mother came to look for her. “Good gracious, Nanette!” she exclaimed. “In the _bar_! And your frock, dear! I see, now, why you wouldn’t have me with you to try on!” “Please _don’t_, Mumsy!” cried Nanette. “Will you _never_ allow me to grow up!” The blue-and-silver frock was certainly daring for a débutante. It was pure Paris; but Nanette’s sweet shoulders were worth displaying. “You are altogether too naked, dear!” her mother declared. “I wear less when I’m swimming!” argued the reasonable Nanette. “Never mind. Please wear your wrap, dear, or a scarf--at least during dinner.” And so the famous evening began. Da Cunha had managed to get himself invited to the dinner party that included Nanette, and Jack sat facing him. Ensleigh, O’Shea, and I shared a bachelor table. When the dancing began, I missed O’Shea. Nanette danced with me, but very abstractedly, alternately watching the door and the open French windows. There are few things more provoking than to dance with a pretty girl who wants to dance with someone else. Da Cunha claimed her quite often and she suffered his public love-making in a way that nearly led to an outburst from Jack. The storm broke when O’Shea appeared. Nanette had begun dancing with Jack, but she did not finish. She dragged him across the floor to O’Shea, and: “Please say you will dance,” she pleaded. She turned to her flushed partner. “Then we will finish our fox-trot, Jack,” she added. “I hate to refuse,” O’Shea replied, and his voice was very gentle; “but I came down to beg you to excuse me. I find that I must go out--on most urgent business. Don’t be angry. I mean it, Nanette.” Nanette was not angry--but she was deeply humiliated. Every woman in the room had marked her descent upon the aloof O’Shea, confident in her radiant young beauty.