Clytie sat at his left hand. Mrs. Page, at his right, had been assigned to the bald, red-faced gentleman with white mustache, who had so profanely refused to make a fool of himself by wearing a Chinese costume. His sprightly, flamboyant partner was ill-pleased with her lot. She proceeded to spread an airy conversational net for Granthope, endeavoring to trap him into her dialogue, with such patent art that every woman at the table noticed her tactics. Granthope, however, shook her off with a smile and a joke, as if she were an annoying, buzzing fly. Still she hummed about him, leaving her partner to himself and his food. However clever and willing Granthope might have been, ordinarily, at such an exchange of persiflage, it was all he could do to parry her thrusts and at the same time keep up with Clytie. But she, noticing Mrs. Page’s game, was mischievous enough, or, perhaps, annoyed enough, to give the woman her chance and submit to a trial of strength. So, as if to give Granthope the choice between them, she turned to her left-hand neighbor, Fernigan, who, in his female costume, had kept that end of the table, by his wit, from interfering with her colloquy. Granthope was in a quandary, fearing to be inextricably annexed. Mrs. Page at this moment increased his dilemma by casting a languishing look at him and pressing his foot with hers under the table. All that was flirtatiously adventurous in him boiled up; for Mrs. Page was, in her own way, a beauty, and, as he had reason to know, amiable. He drew away his foot, however, and as he did so, gave a quick inward glance at himself, wondering, and not a little amused, at the change that had taken place in him. Novelty is, in such dalliance, a prime factor of temptation—it was not a lack of novelty, however, which made her touch unwelcome, for he was, in his relations with the woman, at what would be usually a parlous stage. He had already been gently reproved for his weakness—but it was not the smart of that disapproval that withheld him. He had begun to fear Clytie’s vision—yet he was not quite ready to admit her infallible. His self-denial, then, was indicative of an emotional growth. He smiled to himself, a little proud of the accompaniment of its tiny sacrifice. Clytie, turning to him, rewarded him with a smile, and, leaning a little, said under her breath: "I’m so glad that you find me more worth your while." He could but stare at her. Mrs. Page was quick enough to see, if not hear, what had happened; she turned vivaciously to the gentleman in evening dress. Granthope exclaimed, "You knew that?" "Ah, it is only with you that I can do it." She seemed to be more confused at the incident than he. "I know so much more than I ever dare speak of," she added. This did not weaken her spell.