On the edge of the ring of tables she paused, picked up a goblet, held it out to a passing servant, who immediately filled the glass. Then, before Duane could catch her, she drained the goblet to his health and fled into the shadows, he hard on her heels, pressing her closer, closer, until the pace became too hot for her, and she turned to face him, panting and covering her masked face with her fan. "Now, my fair unknown, we shall pay a few penalties," he said with satisfaction; but she defended herself so adroitly that he could not reach her mask. "Be fair to me," she gasped at last; "why are you so rough with me when--when you need not be? I knew you at once, Jack." And she dropped her arms, standing resistless, breathing fast, her masked face frankly upturned to be kissed. "Now, who the devil," thought Duane, "have I got in my arms? And for whom does she take me?" He gazed searchingly into the slitted eye-holes; the eyes appeared to be blue, as well as he could make out. He looked at the fresh laughing mouth, a young, sensitive mouth, which even in laughter seemed not entirely gay. "Don't you really mind if I kiss you?" He spoke in a whisper to disguise his voice. "Isn't it a little late to ask me that?" she said; and under her mask the colour stained her skin. "I think what we do now scarcely matters." She was so confident, so plainly awaiting his caress, that for a moment he was quite ready to console her. And did not, could not, with the fragrant and yielding intimacy of Geraldine still warm in his quickened heart. She stood quite motionless, her little hands warm in his, her masked face upturned. And, as he merely stared at her: "What is the matter, Jack?" she breathed. "Why do you look at me so steadily?" He ought to have let her go then; he hesitated, wondering which Jack she supposed him to be; and before he realised it her arms were on his shoulders, her mouth nearer to his. "Jack, you frighten me! What is it?" "N-nothing," he continued to stammer. "Yes, there is. Does your--your wife suspect--anything----" "No, she doesn't," said Duane grimly, trying to free himself without seeming to. "I've got an appointment----" But the girl said piteously: "It isn't--Geraldine, is it?" "_What_!" "You--you admitted that she attracted you--for a little while.... Oh, I _did_ forgive you, Jack; truly I did with all my miserable heart! I was so fearfully unhappy--I would have done anything." ... Her face flushed scarlet. "And I--did.... But you do love me, don't you?" And the next moment her lips were on his with a sob. Duane reached back and quietly unclasped her fingers. Then very gently he forced her to a seat on a great fallen log. Still looking up at him, droopingly pathetic in contrast to her gay debut with him, she naively slipped up the mask over her forehead and passed her hand across her pretty blue eyes. Sylvia Quest!