Once he broke away from Miss Forsyth and went and asked Miss Satterly for the next waltz; but she opened her big eyes at him and assured him politely that she was engaged. He tried for a quadrille, a two-step, a schottische--even for a polka, which she knew he hated; but the schoolma'am was, apparently, the most engaged young woman in Dry Lake that night. So Weary owned himself beaten and went back to Miss Forsyth, who had been watching and learning many things and making certain plans. Weary danced with her once and took a fit of sulking, when he stood over by the door and smoked cigarettes and watched moodily the whirling couples. Miss Forsyth drifted to other acquaintances, which was natural; what was not so natural, to Weary's mind, was to see her sitting out a quadrille with the schoolma'am. That did not look good to Weary, and he came near going over and demanding to know what they were talking about. He was ready to bet that Myrt Forsyte, with that smile, was up to some deviltry--and he wished he knew what. She reminded him somewhat of Glory when Glory was cloyed with peaceful living. He even told himself viciously that Myrt Forsyth had hair the exact shade of Glory's, and it came near giving him a dislike of the horse. The conversation in the corner, after certain conventional subjects had been exhausted, came to Miss Forsyth's desire something like this: She said how she loved to waltz,--with the right partner, that is. Apropos the right partner, she glanced slyly from the end of her long eyes and remarked: "Will--Mr. Davidson--is an _ideal_ partner, don't you think? Are you--but of _course_ you must be _acquainted_ with him, living in the same _neighborhood_?" Her inflection made a question of the declaration. "Certainly I am acquainted with Mr. Davidson," said Miss Satterly with just the right shade of indifference. "He does dance very well, though there are others I like better." That, of course, was a prevarication. "You knew him before tonight?" Miss Forsyth laughed that sort of laugh which may mean anything you like. "_Knew_ him? Why, we were en--that is, we grew _up_ in the same _town_. I was so perfectly _amazed_ to find him _here_, poor fellow." "Why poor fellow?" asked Miss Satterly, the direct. "Because you found him? or because he is here?" The long eyes regarded her curiously. "Why, don't you _know_? Hasn't--hasn't it _followed_ him?" "I don't know, I'm sure," said the schoolma'am, calmly facing the stare. "If you mean a dog, he doesn't own one, I believe. Cowboys don't seem to take to dogs; they're afraid they might be mistaken for sheep-herders, perhaps--and that would be a disgrace."