"Yes--" Stuart laughed. "Some of it gets pretty thin in the second and third cousin lines. But it's thick enough for him to get a kiss from every one--confound him!" The hall was crowding rapidly. The rustle of silk, the flash of pearls and diamonds, the hum of soft drawling voices filled the perfumed air. Phil's eyes were dazzled with the bevies of the younger set, from sixteen to eighteen, dressed in soft tulle and organdy; slow of speech; their voices low, musical, delicious. He was introduced to so many his head began to swim. To save his soul he couldn't pick out one more entrancing than another. The moment they spied his West Point uniform he was fair game. They made eyes at him. They languished and pretended to be smitten at first sight. Twice he caught himself about to believe one of them. They seemed so sincere, so dreadfully in earnest. And then he caught the faintest twinkle in the corner of a dark eye and blushed to think himself such a fool. But the sensation of being lionized was delightful. He was in a whirl of foolish joy when he suddenly realized that Stuart had deserted him, slipped through the crowd and found his way to Mary Lee. He threw a quick glance at the pair and one of the four beauties hovering around him began to whisper: "Jeb Stuart's just crazy about Mary--" "Did you ever see anything like it!" "He couldn't stop even to say how-d'y-do." "And she's utterly indifferent--" Sam's voice suddenly rang out with unusual unction and deliberation. He was imitating Uncle Ben's most eloquent methods. "Congress-man and Mrs. Rog-er A. Pry-or!" Mrs. Lee hastened to greet the young editor who had taken high rank in Congress from the day of his entrance. Mrs. Pryor was evidently as proud of her young Congressman as he was of her regal beauty. Colonel Lee joined the group and led the lawmaker into the library for a chat on politics. The first notes of a violin swept the crowd. The hum of conversation and the ripple of laughter softened into silence. The dusky orchestra is in place on the little platform. Sam, in all his glory, rises and faces the eager youth. He was dressed in his young master's last year's suit, immaculate blue broadcloth and brass buttons, ruffled shirt and black-braided watch guard hanging from his neck. His eyes sparkled with pride and his rich, sonorous voice rang over the crowd like the deep notes of a flute: "Choose yo' pardners fur de fust cowtillun!" Again the quick rustle of silk and tulle, the low hum of excited, young voices and the couples are in place. A boy cries to the leader: "We're all ready, Sam." The young caller of the set knew his business better. He lifted his hand in a gesture of reverence and silence, as he glanced toward the library door. "Jes' a minute la-dees, an' gem-mens," he softly drawled. "Marse Robert E. Lee and Missis will lead dis set!"