The very fair man insisted on shaking hands enthusiastically. She placed him as one of the numerous Jims of her acquaintance--last name a mystery. She remembered even that he had a peculiar rhythm in dancing and found as they started that she was right. “Going to be here long?” he breathed confidentially. She leaned back and looked up at him. “Couple of weeks.” “Where are you?” “Biltmore. Call me up some day.” “I mean it,” he assured her. “I will. We’ll go to tea.” “So do I--Do.” A dark man cut in with intense formality. “You don’t remember me, do you?” he said gravely. “I should say I do. Your name’s Harlan.” “No-ope. Barlow.” “Well, I knew there were two syllables anyway. You’re the boy that played the ukulele so well up at Howard Marshall’s house party. “I played--but not--” A man with prominent teeth cut in. Edith inhaled a slight cloud of whiskey. She liked men to have had something to drink; they were so much more cheerful, and appreciative and complimentary--much easier to talk to. “My name’s Dean, Philip Dean,” he said cheerfully. “You don’t remember me, I know, but you used to come up to New Haven with a fellow I roomed with senior year, Gordon Sterrett.” Edith looked up quickly. “Yes, I went up with him twice--to the Pump and Slipper and the Junior prom.” “You’ve seen him, of course,” said Dean carelessly. “He’s here to-night. I saw him just a minute ago.” Edith started. Yet she had felt quite sure he would be here. “Why, no, I haven’t--” A fat man with red hair cut in. “Hello, Edith,” he began. “Why--hello there--” She slipped, stumbled lightly. “I’m sorry, dear,” she murmured mechanically. She had seen Gordon--Gordon very white and listless, leaning against the side of a doorway, smoking, and looking into the ballroom. Edith could see that his face was thin and wan--that the hand he raised to his lips with a cigarette, was trembling. They were dancing quite close to him now. “--They invite so darn many extra fellas that you--” the short man was saying. “Hello, Gordon,” called Edith over her partner’s shoulder. Her heart was pounding wildly. His large dark eyes were fixed on her. He took a step in her direction. Her partner turned her away--she heard his voice bleating---- “--but half the stags get lit and leave before long, so--” Then a low tone at her side. “May I, please?” She was dancing suddenly with Gordon; one of his arms was around her; she felt it tighten spasmodically; felt his hand on her back with the fingers spread. Her hand holding the little lace handkerchief was crushed in his. “Why Gordon,” she began breathlessly. “Hello, Edith.” She slipped again--was tossed forward by her recovery until her face touched the black cloth of his dinner coat. She loved him--she knew she loved him--then for a minute there was silence while a strange feeling of uneasiness crept over her. Something was wrong.