There was the sound of a kiss. “I can’t tell stories about it like you, Sallie, I’m afraid I’m in love with him,” she whispered. “Well, I ’ll make him court you to-morrow or have him thrashed, if you say so.” “Don’t you dare!” “Then do just as I tell you about this ball and get yourself up regardless.” On the night of the ball, Gaston, sitting out on the porch, felt nervous and fidgety, like a fish out of water. He knew he had no business there, and yet he couldn’t go away. They had a quarrel about the ball. Sallie had insisted that Gaston honour her by coming in evening dress whether he danced or not. “But, Miss Sallie, I ’ll feel like a fool. Everybody in the country knows that I never entered a ball-room.” “Do you care so much what everybody thinks about you?” “No, but I care what I think of myself.” “Well, if you don’t come in full dress suit, I won’t speak to you.” He turned pale in spite of his effort at self control. Then a queer steel-like look came into his eyes. “I shall be more than sorry to fail to please you, but I have no dress suit. I have never had time for social frivolities. I can’t afford to buy one for this occasion. I couldn’t be nigger enough to hire one, so that’s the end of it. I ’ll have to come dressed in my own fashion or stay at home.” “Then you can stay at home,” she snapped. “I ’ll not do it,” he coolly replied. “Well, I like your insolence.” “I’m glad you do. I ’ll come as I come to all such functions, an outsider. I ’ll sit out here on the porch in the shadows and see it from afar. If I could only dance, I assure you I’d try to fill every number of your card. Not being able to do so, I simply decline to make a fool of myself.” “For that compliment, I ’ll compromise with you. Wear that big pompous Prince Albert suit you spoke in at Independence, and I ’ll come out on the porch and chat with you a while.” He sat there now in the shadows waiting for this ball to begin. It was a clear night the first week in June. The new moon was hanging just over the tree tops. His heart was full to bursting with the thought that the girl he loved would, in a few minutes, be whirling over that polished floor to the strains of a waltz, with another man’s arm around her. He never knew how deeply he hated dancing before--that rhythmic touch of the human body, set to the melody of motion, and voiced in the passionate cry of music. He felt its challenge to his love to mortal combat,--his love that claimed this one woman as his own, body and soul! The music from the Italian band was in full swing, its plaintive notes instinct with the passion of sunny Italy, a music all Southern people love. He felt that he should choke. A sudden thought came to him. Tearing a sheet of paper from a note book he scrawled this line upon it. “Dear Miss Sallie:--Please let me see you a moment in the parlour before you enter the ball-room. Gaston.”