Conspicuous! The word of all others calculated to bring the blood to a mother’s cheek. Mrs. Malison trembled almost visibly with her effort at self-control, as she switched the conversation further afield, though she saw as plainly as on the night before the lighted ballroom and the tall, lissome, white-clad figure of Tina, with gleaming golden hair and scintillating eyes, “holding hands” with Francis Fanshawe in ring-around-a-rosy fashion, now high above her head, now swinging low down, as the two went flying across the floor, not once, but many times, with an exaggerated, heel-and-toe, boy-and-girl sportiveness after every one else was seated and the music had grown as freakishly mad as they. Mrs. Malison had not realized at first that it was Tina. Then, after that whispered rebuke they had disappeared until it was nearly time to go home, emerging finally, on being sent for, from a palm-hidden corner of the enclosed balcony, Tina with very flushed cheeks, hazy eyes and a general air of having been Called Back, too plain to be mistaken—a perfectly open, childlike defiance of inevitable comment that made one moan in ludicrous dismay. There is nothing so patently open to criticism as innocence. Even through the “thuddiness” of Francis there showed the glitter of an eye which told of the spirit within. Mrs. Malison’s annoyance had culminated when she spoke to Tina on the second morning. She was fully nerved for struggle. This thing had to stop. “Tina, I have been waiting for an opportunity to speak to you about the ball. I was very much displeased with your behaviour; _very_ much displeased! I felt obliged to write to your father about it. I cannot allow you to go to another dance this winter.” “All right; I don’t want to,” said Tina uninterestedly. She had thrown herself down on the wicker lounge beside a black poodle stretched out on the Roman-striped coverlet, and putting her arms around the animal surveyed her mother from this position. Mrs. Malison’s eyes feasted on the picture. “Tina, you are entirely too young to do as you please. You know nothing about the consequences. After this you are to attend to your studies. I don’t wish you to be seen with Francis Fanshawe any more; and I don’t wish you to invite him here.” “He’s not coming,” said Tina briefly. “Momsey, I want a new grey suit! I know I had this green one last month, but I hate it. All my friends are getting grey suits now.” “Tina, have you quarrelled with Francis?” “No.” Mrs. Malison looked uncomfortably puzzled. “Then—— Has he done anything you don’t like, dear?” “No.” “There isn’t anything that you’re keeping from me?” In spite of denial, Mrs. Malison felt the tenacity of some purpose that she could not fathom. “No; oh, _no_!” Tina raised her voice at the sight of her two sisters in the doorway. “You can come in; momsey’s finished scolding me. I want a new grey suit—all my friends have grey suits!”