"I don’t," Peter assured her. "I want one about thirteen years old, dressed in a jolly white lacy frock, with pink ribbons and pink slippers. I feel more at home with a girl like that than with any of those I was introduced to. You see, their hair was so--done up!" "Done up! Was n’t your sister’s hair done up?" queried Shirley. "Oh no, I remember! Those lovely thick curls of hers were tied in a bunch at her neck--such a lovely way; none of the others do theirs like that. She ’s awfully pretty, is n’t she? Prettier than Olive, I think." "I admire my sister very much," agreed Peter, "but it would be hard for anybody to be prettier than your sister." His eyes turned to Olive as he spoke. She stood near by, exchanging gay talk with a tall youth in the interval between dances. More beautifully dressed than any young girl he had ever seen, her dark face lighted into brilliancy by excitement, the rare colour in her cheeks set off by the big bunch of red roses she carried, she was a picturesque figure indeed. "Yes, Olive does look pretty," admitted Olive’s little sister. "Excuse me a minute, please," she added, and slipped over to Olive’s side. If Peter could have heard the brief whispered conversation exchanged, he would hardly have dared to stand watching it, as he did. "Olive," begged Shirley, when with difficulty she had secured her sister’s reluctant attention, "if I take care of Peter Bell for a while, won’t you be nice to him? He does n’t dance, and he does n’t know anybody----" "It’s enough that he ’s here!" retorted Olive, with a frown. "I didn’t ask him or his sister, so I----" "You did n’t ask him?" "No, no--run along! "But who----" "Forrest--without saying a word to me." "Oh!" Shirley gasped, and was silent for a minute. Then she pulled at Olive’s arm again. "Olive, but they ’re our guests just the same, and----" "Shirley, don’t bother me now!" "Listen, Olive, just a minute. Peter says nobody could be prettier than you." It was a shot which told. Olive’s grudging attention was arrested. She glanced over her sister’s head, in the direction of Peter. Her eyes met his, and she turned away again, but not before the momentary vision of the strong, intent face had impressed itself upon her as rather better worth consideration than many of the others. The thought of such a compliment as Shirley had reported coming from those firm-set lips of Peter Bell gave the recipient rather a novel sensation. Olive had been out of patience with Peter from the moment that she caught sight of his unconventional attire, but she felt all at once more tolerant of his presence. "He did n’t tell you to tell me that, I suppose?" she whispered to Shirley. "Oh, no, I only----" "Go back, and tell him to save some time for me after this dance. I ’ll keep the next one for him." "But, Olive, you know he does n’t dance----" "I’ll sit it out with him, since he doesn’t know enough to come and ask me for himself."