"It doesn't. I don't care. I knew something would go wrong. I--the truth is, that I don't know how to act--how to accept my liberty. I don't know how to use it. I'm a perfect fool.... Do you think Kathleen will notice this? Isn't it terrible! She never dreamed I would touch any wine. Do I look--queer?" "No. It isn't so, anyway--and you'll simply lean on me----" "Oh, my knees are perfectly steady. It's only that they don't seem to belong to me. I'm--I'm excited--I've laughed too much--more than I have ever laughed in all the years of my life put together. You don't know what I mean, do you, Duane? But it's true; I've talked to-night more than I ever have in any one week.... And it's gone to my head--all this--all these people who laugh with me over nothing--follow me, tell me I am pretty, ask me for dances, favours, beg me for a word with them--as though I would need asking or urging!--as though my impulse is not to open my heart to every one of them--open my arms to them--thank them on my knees for being here--for being nice to me--all these boys who make little circles around me--so funny, so quaint in their formality----" She pressed his arm tighter. "_Let_ me rattle on--let me babble, Duane. I've years of silence to make up for. Let me talk like a fool; _you_ know I'm not one.... Oh, the happiness of this one night!--the happiness of it! I never shall have enough dancing, never enough of pleasure.... I--I'm perfectly mad over pleasure; I like men.... I suppose the champagne makes me frank about it--but I don't care--I do like men----" "_That_ one?" demanded Mallett, halting her on the edge of the palms which screened the conservatory doors. "You mean Mr. Dysart? Yes--I--do like him." "Well, he's married, and you'd better not," he snapped. "C-can't I _like_ him?" in piteous astonishment which set the colour flying into his face. "Why, yes--of course--I didn't mean----" "_What_ did you mean? Isn't it--shouldn't he be----" "Oh, it's all right, Geraldine. Only he's a sort of a pig to keep you away from--others----" "Other--_pigs_?" He turned sharply, seized her, and forcibly turned her toward the light. She made no effort to control her laughter, excusing it between breaths: "I didn't mean to turn what you said into ridicule; it came out before I meant it.... Do let me laugh a little, Duane. I simply cannot care about anything serious for a while--I want to be frivolous----" "Don't laugh so loud," he whispered. She released his arm and sank down on a marble seat behind the flowering oleanders. "Why are you so disagreeable?" she pouted. "I know I'm a perfect fool, and the champagne has gone to my silly head--and you'll never catch me this way again.... Don't scowl at me. Why don't you act like other men? Don't you know how?" "Know how?" he repeated, looking down into the adorably flushed face uplifted. "Know how to do what?"