Then another partner came up to claim her. As the orchestra blurted forth and Bessy leaned to the dancer's clasp she shouted audaciously at Lane: "Don't forget that silver platter!" Lane turned to Blair to find that worthy shaking his handsome head. "Did you hear what she said?" asked Lane, close to Blair's ear. "Every word," replied Blair. "Some kid!... She's like the girl in the motion-pictures. She comes along. She meets the fellow. She looks at him--she says 'good day'--then _Wham_, into his arms.... My God!... Lane, is that kid good or bad?" "Good!" exclaimed Lane, instantly. "Bah!" "Good--still," returned Lane. "But alas! She is brazen, unconscious of it. But she's no fool, that kid. Lorna is an absolute silly bull-headed fool. I wish Bessy Bell was my sister--or I mean that Lorna was like her." "Here comes Swann without Margie. Looks sore as a pup. The----" "Shut up, Blair. I want to listen to this jazz." Lane shut his eyes during the next number and listened without the disconcerting spectacle in his sight. He put all the intensity of which he was capable into his attention. His knowledge of music was not extensive, but on the other hand it was enough to enable him to analyze this jazz. Neither music nor ragtime, it seemed utterly barbarian in character. It appealed only to primitive, physical, sensual instincts. It could not be danced to sanely and gracefully. When he opened his eyes again, to see once more the disorder of dancers in spirit and action, he seemed to have his analysis absolutely verified. These dances were short, the encores very brief, and the intermissions long. Perhaps the dancers needed to get their breath and rearrange their apparel. After this number, Lane left Blair talking to friends, and made his way across the hall to where he espied Lorna. She did not see him. She looked ashamed, hurt, almost sullen. Her young friend, Harry, was bending over talking earnestly. Lane caught the words: "Lorna dear, that Swann's only stringing you--rushing you on the sly. He won't dance with you _here_--not while he's with that swell crowd." "It's a lie," burst out Lorna. She was almost in tears. Lane took her arm, making her start. "Well, kids, you're having some time, aren't you," he said, cheerfully. "Sure--are," gulped Harry. Lorna repressed her grief, but not her sullen resentment.