“No,” she said firmly. “Not until our dance is over. I want every bit of it. That’s—that’s my salary. My! I feel awful wicked with that ring in my hand. You can take a firmer hold of me if you want—the way you did that first day! I need reassuring!” Bob laughed in spite of himself, but he reassured “jolly little pal,” in the manner indicated. “Now just fly around,” she said. And Bob “flew” with a recklessness that satisfied even her. When it was over she turned to him with an odd look. “I’ve got another condition.” “What is it?” “That you ask Miss Gerald to dance!” “But—” he began, disconcerted as well as surprised. “That’s the condition.” “She would only refuse.” Gloomily. “Do you agree?” There was something almost wistful in the temperamental eyes of little pal at that moment. “I—can’t.” Desperately. “Very well. Take back the—” “All right. I will,” Bob half-groaned. As he walked over toward Gwendoline Gerald, he saw the temperamental little thing moving toward the stairway. Half-way up, she stopped and looked back over the banister. Perhaps she wanted to see if Bob was fulfilling his part of the contract. CHAPTER XIX—BOB FORGETS HIMSELF “Miss Gerald,” said Bob as formally as if he were quoting from one of those deportment books, “may I have the pleasure of this dance?” Her reply was at variance with what “How to Behave in the Best Society” taught young ladies to say. “Why do you ask?” said Gwendoline Gerald quietly. “Got to,” said Bob. “Why have you got to?” “I promised I would.” “Who made you promise?” Bob told. “Do you have to do what she tells you?” “In this instance.” “Of course you know what my reply will be?” “I told her you would refuse.” “You would hardly expect me to dance with you after all I know about you, would you?” There was still that deadly quietness in her tones. “All you think you know about me,” Bob had the courage to correct her. “Of course not.” “Some one has taken one of my rings,” observed Miss Gerald even more quietly. “I haven’t got it,” exclaimed Bob. “Honest!” Wasn’t he glad he had got rid of it? The violet eyes studied Bob as if he were something strange and inanimate—an odd kind of a pebble or a shell. “You are sure?” said Miss Gwendoline. “Positive,” answered Bob in his most confident tones. He remembered now that during his dance with the jolly little pal he had observed the monocle-man talking with Miss Gerald. Perhaps he had told her he had seen the ring in Bob’s fingers when the latter had gone to the window. The monocle-man might have been spying all the while, on the other side. There might have been two Peeping Toms interested in Bob’s actions in the billiard room. “Are you so positive you would be willing to submit to be searched?”