As soon as they had left the conservatory Fanny turned to her companion. “Uncle and Auntie are just like lovers, aren’t they? Do you suppose you’ll be like that when you’ve been married ten years?” Guy lost no time in seizing the advantage. “That’ll depend a good deal on you,” he said, insinuatingly. Fanny drew back from him and tried to look taller. “What a horrid thing to say! You make me very uncomfortable when you talk like that.” But she could not maintain a severe demeanor for more than a moment. “Isn’t it beautiful to be allowed to stay up just as late as you please!” she exclaimed, rapturously. “It makes me feel really grown. It’s almost as good as wearing long dresses. Just listen to that music, will you?” She struck an attitude, her arms extended. “Want to try?” she asked, holding her hands toward the young fellow. He fairly dived into her arms, and they swung about together, brushing against the palm leaves and breathing hard. Suddenly she thrust him back from her and continued alone. “You haven’t improved a bit. Oh-h-h!” From the waltz Fanny broke into a Spanish dance she had learned at school, using her fan with a skill that caused Guy to applaud enthusiastically. “Oh, isn’t it great!” she cried. “I could dance like this all night. Look out! Don’t get in my way and spoil it!” While in the midst of one of her most elaborate effects, she suddenly stopped. A voice had just exclaimed: “What in the world are you two people doing?” Fanny turned and confronted a large, smooth-faced, white-haired old gentleman, who was looking down in astonishment from the head of the steps. “Oh, is that you, dad?” she said, tossing back her hair. “I’m just practising being in society. How d’you like it?” Then she went on, glancing at Guy: “Oh, you haven’t met dad, have you? Well, this is _It_, dad--Mr. Fullerton, Mr. Guy Fullerton.” Jonathan Wallace walked deliberately down the steps and offered Guy his hand. “How do you do, sir?” he said, with ponderous gravity. Before Guy had a chance to speak Fanny broke in: “Mr. Fullerton’s the young man I’ve been writing to you about--the one that’s been so attentive this Winter. Here, come and let me fix that tie of yours.” She gave her father’s tie a deft twist and patted the broad shoulders. “There! That’s better. Now they’d never know you come from the country.” Wallace turned to Guy. The expression in his flushed face began to soften. “You mustn’t mind _her_,” he said, quietly. “She’s always letting her tongue run away with her. We let her talk to keep her out of worse mischief.” Fanny walked over to Guy, who looked as if he were trying hard to think of something worth saying. “Well, you _have_ been paying me attentions, haven’t you, Guy?” she said, her voice growing tender as she finished the question. Then she triumphantly exclaimed to her father: “Now!”